


Our own mess

by Phalaenopsis13



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angst, Anxiety, Aziraphale fusses (about everything duh), Banter, Body Image, Book&TV Canon Fusions, Bookshop Fire, Changing POV, Comedy, Confessions, Conscious plants, Crowley and Warlock love each other the guardian&child way, Crowley is Good With Kids (Good Omens), Cuddles, Demonic!Crowley, Don't worry they'll be fine, Drunk!Aziraphale, Drunk!Crowley, Eventual Smut, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Flirting, Fluff, Food Love, Halloween, Holding Hands, Humour, Hurt/Comfort, Kisses, Lots of miracles, Lots of plot with a bit of porn, Love, M/M, Madame Tracy and Sgt. Shadwell visit, Nightmares, No Beta I'll have to go down on my own, Obvious acts of distraction, Our favourite snek, POV Aziraphale, POV Crowley, Pining, Pranking, Queen (Band) - Freeform, Repressed Feelings, Saunter and swagger, Sleepovers, Snake!Crowley - Freeform, Strong!Aziraphale, Tags will be added, Teasing, The Bandstand, The Bentley - Freeform, The Ritz, The bookshop, The children come to visit, Ticklish!Aziraphale, Wing Grooming, first time fanfic, gender discussion, inebriation, mostly canon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-15
Updated: 2020-05-04
Packaged: 2021-02-19 15:17:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 18
Words: 55,435
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22712851
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Phalaenopsis13/pseuds/Phalaenopsis13
Summary: Crowley let’s out a laugh of relief.„We‘re a real mess, aren‘t we?“„Yes. But we are our own mess.“„That doesn‘t make any sense whatsoever.“Aziraphale flips him the finger with his free hand.The demon cackles loudly.„I‘m still discovering new sides of you every day.“ He marvels.„Then I hope you like them.“ The angel teases back.Join our two favourite anxious bastards after Armageddon‘t trying to  sort out their relationship and finally confess how they feel about each other. There will be angst, fluff and banter all along the way.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Background Madame Tracy/Sgt.Shadwell
Comments: 32
Kudos: 46





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everyone,  
> So this is the beginning.  
> I hope you’re not already fed up with these two adorable anxious bastards, but then again, I never am ;). There are so many wonderful GO fics, and I unfortunately can’t seem to reinvent the wheel, but I am proud to get my take on them out here.  
> This fic joins them after Armaggedon't on their journey to confess their feelings to one another and finally become happy together. It will take some time, with them working through lots of difficult emotions and not being really good with feelings in general, but it's also funny (so I hope) and will have a happy ending.  
> I really enjoyed putting lots of my favourite headcanons inside and although it will be quite angsty especially at the beginning, I am trying to balance it with some fluff and hot stuff in between, too, so you get some time to recover :D  
> Please notice that English is not my mother language, this is my first fanfic and I don’t have a beta – I’m jumping in without a parachute, so please be nice to me :’D  
> Please kindly correct any grammar/language-wise mistakes and let me know what you think about the fic in the comments.
> 
> Edit: While Crowley in here still cannot live without the boundless freedom of changing genders and species on a whim, Aziraphale could be more or less described as a cis-man and if that isn‘t your vibe that‘s a-okay but then you probably won‘t enjoy the fic so I wanted to say that before :)
> 
> Cheers,  
> Lae

Two weeks after the outsmarting of Heaven and Hell, and after yet another thoroughly opulent meal with a lot of the finest wine at the Ritz, Crowley and Aziraphale are ambling through the dusky streets of London. Both of them neither care about, nor have really given any attention to how long they have been walking like this. There is such an inert sense of peace in the act of simply going wherever they want to together, without the feeling of being watched.

They just – go on. Truth be told, they have been celebrating almost two weeks straight. They have been to all the best restaurants and bars in town, with occasional naps at the bookshop. 

Right now, they are still quite inebriated (again) and have to steady themselves from time to time, which comes with a lot of soft “Ooops, thank you my dear!”s (when Aziraphale starts swinging slightly from side to side and the demon catches him by the elbow) and even more of “Ngk, sorry!”s (when Aziraphale has to grab the back of Crowley’s jacket last moment before he would fall square on his face, and pulls him into an upright position again, without the angel even breaking a sweat).

They are both very aware of one another and avoid skin contact at all costs.

It’s not that Aziraphale hasn’t wanted to take the demon’s hand already while dining at the Ritz and in multiple moments before, but… this is the first time in eternity they both are actually - free.  
He hasn’t let his guards down fully in all the thousands of years and will have to learn this like a new language.  
There is this nasty little pessimist that keeps creeping up the edges of his mind and whisper scenarios in which their little bubble of happiness could still burst any moment.  
One reason he hasn’t insisted to take a break in their debauchery is probably owed to this – he tries to tune him out.  
Crowley saunters beside him, whistling “Fat bottomed girls”, seemingly without a care in the world.  
_Just how can he be so nonchalant about all of it?_

Aziraphale can feel the exhaustion deep in his being. It’s beginning to get to him.  
For the first time, he could really use this ability to sleep his friend is so fond of.  
He tries to fake being relaxed, but his mind is reeling and he doesn’t pay attention to the pavement. He stumbles and gets caught at his elbow again. Golden snake eyes look at him, brows furrowed, as if Crowley could see right through his façade.

 _Well he looks like he just swallowed a toad._ Aziraphale’s eyes tend to give a lot away; Crowley has seen it multiple times. They are very honest, even when his words are not. The angel refuses to straight up lie (unless the situation is really dire), but has become quite skilful in the art of omission if needed.

“Angel, you okay there?”  
It sounds worried. Almost soft. The demon curses internally, thinking that the angel can probably see right through him.  
His friend’s eyes seem so big and blue right now, more ethereal than human, but the look in them is not pleasant.

Crowley nudges him to say something. He never knows how to deal with situations like this properly. He’s bloody useless with this stuff.  
And now he is getting the hiccups. _Bless it!_  
A hiccupping demon seems to at least rattle Aziraphale out of his doomsday thoughts as he regards his friend with a small smile.

Every time the sound erupts, there is a little hissing noise at the end and Crowley’s currently split tongue comes slipping out involuntarily.  
_It’s adorable,_ Aziraphale notices with glee. My, he actually cannot remember ever witnessing Crowley hiccup.  
He tries to keep his composure.

“Yeah, yeah… it’s fine.”  
_As if!_ His brain supplies, rather unhelpful.  
He decidedly looks anywhere else than at his friend.

“Just a lot to… take off, err, take in, the last few days, no? Everything going down like it did and all that.”  
His voice is sounding a lot more moody than he intended. Crowley just nods pensively and seems lost at how to answer.

The angel’s mind is drifting off again.

The world very nearly ended without him ever seeing his demon having a hiccup… He doesn’t know how to cope with all of this. It’s simply been too much at once!  
He still struggles with being exiled from heaven (a lot) and with his bookshop burning down and rising from the ashes again like a phoenix (without him even witnessing the whole ordeal), with the nearly-extinction of humanity and the world and Crowley  
– The demon Crowley, who is his best friend, who wanted to run away with him, who has always been there since the garden of Eden, who knows him better than any being on earth, above and beyond, staying with him right till and through what was supposed to be the end of all times.

Right there at the end, in what he deems a very unangelic part of his heart, Aziraphale could not help but be a little selfish.

There had been a second, maybe two, where he had stopped in his constant worrying for the world and had worried over just one thing – that he would maybe, just maybe, trade it all for being together with his friend for just a few years more.  
It was a background noise he forgot at once, for he had a lot of things to turn his attention to, but afterwards, on the bus ride back to London, the feeling surfaced again and he has been mortified with himself ever since.

Of course he wouldn’t trade it all. Never! The world, humanity, Warlock, Adam and his friends… all of them so brave, so young! He cannot believe the selfishness in his heart.<\br> But of course, he loves Crowley dearly, and isn’t it normal to be a little selfish about the person you love? It’s human. Aziraphale has known for a long time that he belongs on earth as much as he belongs in Heaven. Has belonged. Well.

The demon hiccups very loudly, as if he has been trying to supress it. It makes Aziraphale jump, and then he has to stifle a laugh when it happens again. The other being fortunately doesn’t seem to notice.

Crowley doesn’t know what to tell him. He thinks: _That’s certainly one way to phrase it,_ but doesn’t say it out loud, as his angel looks very troubled as is.  
If he knew that Aziraphale thinks he’s being nonchalant about all of it, he would laugh straight in his face.  
The demon has, until know, successfully kept the panic attacks at bay that come rushing to him since kneeling in the midst of the bookshop inferno. He has tried to repress the memory and the feelings that come with it, but it keeps nagging him at the most inconvenient times. It has become hard to keep his head busy (or drunk) enough to not have to deal with the whole thing.

Celebrating two weeks straight was also useful to avoid his nightmares. They’ve started eleven years ago and have become worse over time, since he’d placed the Antichrist – _Adam_ – on earth.

But now they can be unbearable. He’s only slipped away from the angel for a few hours over the last weeks to get some rest, but peaceful sleep had turned out to be impossible. Although he can feel Aziraphale’s presence next to him at all times, he cannot help but _look_. Seeing is believing. The angel is still there. Crowley is not alone in this world, which didn’t end. 

_Don’t you fucking dare and have another breakdown in front of him yet again!_ He thinks to himself. _Looks like he has got one coming himself now, anyway._

He could practically sense the angel’s mind starting to be surrounded by dark clouds again. Crowley hiccups and decides for an act of distraction.

“Say, after the whole… not-ending the world thing. I thought it would – _hiccsss_ \- I mean it’s only precautions if someone from your _hrrm_ former lot – _hiccsss_ – or my former lot tries something after all of us raining on their parade.  
I mean, I just thought it would be good to keep in touch with all the fickle-ssss, fickle little humans involved – _hicc-hiccss_ – especially the kids – _hiccssss_ – bless it all, what in somebody’s name?!”

He glances sideways, noticing light reflecting on something wet on his companion’s face.

Aziraphale has stuffed his perfectly manicured hand into his perfectly pink mouth to refrain from bursting into laughter. Tears are running down his cheeks, which are bright red. His eyes are shining with mirth. _It is adorable as it is hilarious._

“Oi! Have a little sympathy- _iiiiccs_!”

The angel caves and bursts into a fit of brightly glittering laughter, gasping for air and holding his belly. He is laughing so hard, in fact, that after a few more steps he stumbles and trips, forcing him to clench down on Crowley’s arm for footing, but the latter is so preoccupied by his bodily malfunctions, that they both go down in a surprise.

“Sympathy for the de-e-e-evil!” Aziraphale wheezes, tears still in his eyes, clothes dusty from the pavement he’s landed on. His hair catches the light from a streetlamp in reminiscence of his hidden halo, and he won’t stop giggling.

Crowley can’t help but stare openly. A rush of affection and sharp pain of nearly-loss curses through his being.  
He is so fucking glad he dragged this night on, to be rewarded like this.  
Some time ago, he has started to purposely lead them in small loops and circles so the evening won’t end just yet. Maybe he even shifts the shadows around them a bit, so his angel won’t notice the approaching new day. He does not want to take another break, he wants this to go on forever.

And this sight, right in front of him, was totally worth it, totally worth the physical pain his bony arse has taken just now before he could throw in a little miracle to save either of their butts.  
Then what the angel has just said registers into his brain.

“I say! Since when do you know any music from this century, angel?”

The being in question looks something between miffed and embarrassed. He fumbles a tartan handkerchief out of his pocket and dusts off his hands. He folds it gingerly in his lap and then quietly mumbles: “Well, you always play modern music in the Bentley and I am actually interested in _what my friends like_."  
(That’s why he could identify “Fat bottomed girls” earlier, anyway)

"And _maybe_ I heard it somewhere while eating sushi and _maybe_ that particular piece of music justkindastuckwithme.”  
Crowley is stunned into silence again. He even forgets to hiccup.

Meanwhile Aziraphale puts the handkerchief back where it came from, stands up and brushes off his trousers. He looks down at the demon, smiles shyly and offers a hand of peace.  
The other being takes it and rises, while detangling his long limbs.  
Their hands linger warm and firm in one another and the angel does not look away.

Crowley’s heart is pounding way too fast. Is he starting to blush now? _Fuck it._  
He let’s go. He could swear there is a flash of disappointment in the Aziraphale’s eyes and it makes his breath hitch.  
_Don’t be ridiculous, he does not love me this w- No! Stop it!  
_ “Well bless it, that fall just there properly sobered me up.”  
_I’m such a coward._

“Yeah, me too,” Aziraphale sighs. _A shame it also cured your hiccups.  
_And he really thought they were having a moment right there. Did he misinterpret Crowley’s stare again?  
_I have to stop acting huffy all the time. It’s not his fault.  
_He has pushed the demon away at the bandstand and he has said very cruel things that day. He was afraid and lashed out. He has to be braver.  
_But maybe gather some more courage first._

Taking a look at his pocket watch, then furrowing his brows and looking east, he says: “Shouldn’t it be sunrise already?”

(If the two of them weren’t so busy to excel each other in poorly delivered acts of distraction, they would have caught up on the other’s bullshit ages ago. Like literally.)

But Crowley only let’s out a quiet little hissing noise and a dark cloud begins to move, and the sky turns lilac and rose coloured.  
If the angel notices something, he doesn’t comment on it.  
They commence their walk in Crowley’s misleading patterns, but Aziraphale catches on to those shenanigans shortly after and insists to take him home to his flat.

“We should really both get a proper rest, and I know you prefer sleeping to restore your energies. Surely your bed is a lot more comfy than my old armchairs.” His cheerfulness is a bit over the top, he knows. But he _really_ needs to take a break that’s more than reading a few pages before going off again. And he still wants to try something tonight.

Crowley looks almost furious about this statement.  
_Bloody heaven, I would always trade your armchairs for my blessed cold and lonely bed!_  
But he doesn’t articulate this thought.  
What the demon also doesn’t articulate is: “I don’t want to go to my bloody flat. It has always been more of a very impersonal hide out than a home anyway, and the only thing that matters in there are the plants and maybe one day I would like to move them into your bookshop, and move myself in, too, of course. And anyway I would rather spend the day napping in a sunny spot on one of your old sodden armchairs than being alone again with my blessed thoughts.”  
After a short pause, he just shrugs.

He _is_ fucking tired and he wants to give his best friend some room for himself, if he needs that. The angel would have suggested going back to the shop if he didn’t want to be alone. He can respect that. Even if the thought of being separated this long is giving him the creeps.  
“Sure,” he gives in. “Sounds nice.” 

His bloody heart is doing a somersault when Aziraphale hesitantly holds out his elbow, an offer to hook in. Blue eyes search for any sign of the anger that had flickered in his gaze before. 

“Everything’s _fine_ , angel, don’t look at me like that.”  
The arm is still there, waiting for him to do something. Fuck, he could never say no to Aziraphale.  
The frown smooths away when Crowley hooks in and offers the angel the smallest hint of a grin.  
“See? Everything _tickety-boo_.”  
“If you say so, my dear.”

They set into motion again. Aziraphale lays his other hand on top of Crowley’s arm, whose pulse rockets.  
”What was that about before, with keeping in touch with the humans? Did you mean Adam and his little friends?”  
_Talking. Talking is good._ “Y-yeah, Them. Also the little witch and her not-IT-boy. And Warlock.”

His voice goes a little high pitched at the end. He clears his throat.

“Do you miss him terribly? I know how you are with kids, dear.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, angel! Why would I miss the little monster?” From him, this sounds more like a pet name.

“I just wanted to keep in touch in case of any… heavenly or hellish emergencies. Would be terribly irresponsible not to.” 

His heart beat begins to settle down comfortably. This is Aziraphale after all. Everything about the angel just oozes cosiness. If Crowley were more of a cat than a snake, he probably would be purring. He hopes he doesn’t look too pleased.

The angel beams at him. “Right, how lovely! Very thoughtful indeed. And they can all come and visit us! Did you give them your address to write to?”

“ _Angel_ , there’s mobile phones for somebody’s sake! What good would a bloody letter do, arriving days after the emergency? I gave them my _number._ Even _you_ have a phone and you actually use it!”

In his exasperation he puts the “They can all come and visit”-bit aside for later.

“Yes, of course!” Aziraphale seems completely unperturbed. “I guess I just always loved the thought of pen pals!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I hope the constantly changing POV doesn't confuse the hell out of everyone, I try to make clear whose POV it is, but please tell me if I fucked up somewhere.  
> And I'm not happy with the layout yet, but I guess I'll get the hang of it.  
> Hope you liked!


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have some fluff, have some angst :D

“Of what now? Do I look like I want to be pen pals with half of England? Or with anyone at all?”

The angel ignores the question and chatters on.  
“You know, I already invited Madame Tracy and her dear friend Mr. Shadwell for tea on Tuesday. I should properly thank her for helping me out when I was, err, in dire need of…”  
Crowley smirks. “A ride? Because her blasted dear friend had you discorporated?”  
He cocks one eyebrow, a move which Aziraphale was always terribly fond and also terribly envious of.

“Well, he didn’t mean to! Or at least he thought I was a demon and should be discorporated all right. No offense, dear.”  
“None taken. But I hope you’re not thinking of making this a regular event? Inviting people over? Terrible bother, other people.” He thinks of what a bunch of children would do to his heart.  
“Crowley!” Aziraphale scolds. “Don’t be like that! It will be very nice. I shall buy cake and biscuits and…”  
The demon groans and rolls his eyes.  
_Biscuits. There better be nobody occupying my favourite sunny spot._

The bickering goes on and almost without them noticing they arrive at Crowley’s building.

The demon has just thrown his hands in the air in exasperation, when he notices the front door.  
Their discussion about the threat which the presence of children poses for priceless antiques and ancient prophecy books (a point he has brought up as a last sheet anchor) ends abruptly.  
There is a rather awkward pause.< /p>

The angel is fidgeting, wringing his hands, looks at the weeds in between the cobblestones at the sidewalk and up at the dawning sky.  
Crowley is shuffling his feet, hands in his pocket, and clears his throat.  
He feels very exhausted. He also feels that he should say something. This is the first time in two weeks they’ll be apart from one another for more than a couple of hours.  
But Aziraphale, taking a deep breath, beats him to it.  
“Here we are, my dear boy.”  
“Rrright.”  
“You know, there’s actually something I wanted to ask you.”  
The angel has a very determined look about him. His cheeks have gone a nervous shade of pink and his eyes search for Crowley’s and hold their gaze. There is one last thing he wants to do today.

The demon’s stomach contracts. _What’s that about?_

“Would you be against hugging? I mean you probably are in general, but what I mean to say is, how about giving me one? A hug?”  
Aziraphale’s determination seems to waver when Crowley doesn’t move a single muscle in his body. He doesn’t even breathe. Not that he needs to.  
“I’m sorry if this is an inconvenient thing to ask of you, I just thought, since we have been friends for so long and no-one cares anymore, I would rather start to greet and say goodbye to you properly. And you seemed to like hooking arms before, so I just assumed…” He swallows.  
“Oh God, I have made it all awkward now, haven’t I? You really don’t have to do it if you-”

Crowley blinks. With one eye.  
_Why does it feel as if he has been planning the whole night for this little speech? And why does he have to ook like a kicked puppy? Bless it, those eyes…_  
Then he manages to snap out of it. “A hug?”  
The angel tugs at his cream coloured sleeve. “Yes.”  
_Anthony J. Crowley, just play it cool now_.

The demon sighs dramatically and holds out his arms.  
“For fuck’s sake, angel, you really think I would have a problem with hugging you? Come here-“  
and pulls his friend into a tight embrace, all long and slender limbs and black leather jacket.

Aziraphale instantly slings his arms around his waist and rests his head on Crowley’s shoulder.  
It’s so comfy. It’s perfect.  
A small sound of distinct contentment escapes his mouth. His face flushes bright red.  
Horrified with himself he waits for the usual snarky comment or other signs of repercussion, but the only thing he notices is a quiet huff tingling in his hair. In fact, he could swear there is this certain feeling of something quietly… humming under his fingertips, as if there was a swarm of bees embedded inside Crowley’s being, but it’s kind of fuzzy and also very warm.  
Maybe he had been right after all?  
The demon’s arms tighten around him; then he starts to withdraw from the hug, wearing a crooked smile.

“See you tomorrow then? I think I am going to sleep at least 24 hours.”  
Aziraphale, still trying to get his head back to his usual skin colour, nods.  
“But don’t take too long, okay?“ He wants to sound nonchalant, but does not get the tone quiet right.  
“I don’t want to go out to lunch by myself, it’s no fun!”  
Crowley has never been able to resist that pout and throws back a hasty “Yeah, a’right, a’right”, while already stalking to the door and waving goodbye over his shoulder.  
When the door closes, Aziraphale makes sure nobody’s watching and teleports off with a satisfied little smile and a swishing noise.

Once inside, Crowley finally loses control over his legs, which start shaking like the branches of a sickly broom shrub in wind force 7.  
He knows he can’t do the stairs, so he teleports himself directly into his flat, where his legs give in and he slides down a wall in a pile of limbs and embarrassment.

“Ngkhrggrlglgllnaaaaaaah!!”  
All his nervous energy escapes in a strangled noise.  
“What the flying fuck?! Keep it together!”  
Panting heavily, he buries his face in his palms while his plants are listening with interest.  
Normally they are the only living things getting yelled at in here.

He has just hugged Aziraphale! Not a handshake or a pat on the arm or back. A proper several-seconds-long hug!  
And the angel positively _snuggled up on him._  
He giggles hysterically. First the arm-hooking and now this.  
It’s not that they have never had body contact before, but they’ve never been especially touchy-feely with each other, to keep up the appearance of sworn enemies and all that.  
Except maybe during the height of the Roman Empire with all the festivities and gluttony and such-likes going on, they would have really stood out if they hadn’t been at least a bit touchy-feely.

But that was long ago. And he didn’t have the _feels_ back then, at least not like this, more like a background noise he could still ignore while enjoying his friend’s company.  
It had been a possibility, not a certainty. A crush to entertain his mind with while lying awake at night, but nothing to seriously fret about.  
Well, not anymore.

Crowley let’s out a heavy sigh. His face feels feverish.  
Somehow the dam on all these feelings had gotten big cracks when he was running from the bandstand; and then it had broken for good when driving away from the bookshop, all frustrated, rejected, hurt – and scared out of his mind.  
To make it even worse, Aziraphale’s discorporation-slash-death happened shortly after.

At that point he had lost it. He just gave up and fell into despair.  
He can’t remember a similar feeling than that of seeing Aziraphale’s translucent appearance at the bar, a wild and contradicting mixture of relief, joy, hope, bitterness and anger, all crashing down on him.  
He had had it under control for so long. He doesn’t know how he managed to keep it together the last two weeks, to keep up his usual attitude and look so cool - maybe with the minor setback of the undignified hiccup incident.  
At least it cheered up Aziraphale.

But bloody heavens, he has to physically restrain himself from grabbing the angel’s hand and kiss him, like, all the time now!

His heart and mind are a downright chaos. He wonders if the angel goes through a similar struggle.  
_I know he cares for me deeply._ But does he love him like he loves Aziraphale?  
Not just as his best friend, but also in a yes, rather carnal and – no matter how much he has tried to deny it ( _ridiculous! abominable!_ ) - deeply romantic way, that has him shaking in his boots from a mere hug.

And the angel just brushed him aside at the bandstand and after, wouldn’t even hear him out properly, when all he wanted to do was to keep them both safe.  
He knows, _he knows_ he could not demand something like this from the Principality of the eastern gate, to just abandon everything and run.  
But Aziraphale’s words hurt him nevertheless. And he has wondered constantly if his friend’s feelings just aren’t as strong as his own.

He hates feeling this weak and confused. So out of… control. Demons aren’t cut out for this whole emotional vulnerability stuff.  
And yet here he is, giggling like a lunatic, because suddenly his whole being vibrates with hope.

  
Aziraphale pops back into reality on the doorstep of his bookshop in Soho.  
He polishes the brass doorknob with his sleeve wearing a fond smile, then turns it and steps inside.  
He inhales deeply. _Ahhh, the smell of books!_ His second favourite smell in the world.  
His most favourite smell is amazingly still tingling in his nose.  
It’s a mixture of embers and wrought iron, polished wood floors and rough leather.  
It’s - he feels his ears warming up at the thought – _smoky_.

Only when Crowley is present in the shop, lazily draped over one of the armchairs, the two smells combine and form what, in Aziraphale’s opinion, smells like home.

He bustles around the shop, rearranging some shelves and half-heartedly doing some clean-up.  
But he can’t really concentrate. Scenes from the night keep flashing up before his eyes.

Like Crowley staring at him from under his sunglasses, while Aziraphale was eating dessert at the Ritz. He felt flattered and also a bit exposed, like always when the demon did this.  
Crowley has never been into sweet things, but is apparently glad to put up with Aziraphale’s obsession.  
When they had met in France he had disappeared for three days before emerging on the angel’s doorstep again, claiming to have found the best patisserie in Paris and “Look angel, I know you love your crepes, but what they do with chocolate, you wouldn’t believe! How about I take you there and you could go do a minor temptation for me in Sweden, I hate the weather up there…”

Of course Aziraphale had known about the place beforehand.  
But he didn’t want to disappoint him.  
So he went with him, and the Tarte au chocolat had been scrumptious again.  
And Crowley had gazed at him with those eyes that made him melt internally, much like the chocolate.

The angel sighs shakily. He doesn’t know when he gave up fighting these feelings for his best friend, but he has really tried not to act on them out of fear for both of their lives.  
He thinks of the loneliness between their meetings, of all the secret glances, of subtle “accidental” touches when handing over glasses of alcohol or passing the next heavenly or hellish assignment to one another.

He knows that Crowley thinks of him as his best friend, even though the demon seldom admits to it.  
He also knows the other to be attracted to him in a very physical way.  
When he thinks Aziraphale doesn’t look, the gaze from his yellow eyes becomes fierce sometimes.  
Like when the angel is eating dessert. As if Aziraphale _was_ the dessert.

He blushes. He has resolved to fill in the gap, so to speak, between Crowley wanting to be his friend and Crowley wanting him like that.  
He has to make certain if there are the same romantic feelings involved. And tonight had been a promising start. But he has to go slow about it, to not scare the demon away.  
He has to make up for the bandstand.  


When Crowley finally drops into bed in the evening, his sleep is erratic and far from restful.  
His current nightmare involves him standing in front of a circular wall of burning books that surrounds the bandstand with Aziraphale on it, the angel shouting words at him he cannot hear over the roar of the fire.  
He knows he could breach the wall in his Bentley, but he cannot find the car.  
Aziraphale’s wings catch fire and Crowley wants to reach him, running towards the flames, which suddenly become a swooshing wave of holy water, drowning him, burning him away…

He wakes up covered in sweat, cursing and coughing.  
He notices the dampness on his face is not just sweat, but also tears. His eyes are itching with them.  
He rolls to his side and reaches for the scattered shirt next to the bed to wipe his face and torso. He pulls his knees up to his chin and rests his forehead on them.

_It’s over, he is safe, you are safe, we are fine._ It’s like a mantra in his head.  
It takes about forever to calm down and he knows he won’t be able to go back so sleep.  
His digital clock says it’s close to midnight. He groans.

No matter how much he wants to, he cannot simply show up at Aziraphale’s now.  
Of course the angel would be awake, meditating, or reading and drinking his tea, and he would make a fuss about him and want to know what’s wrong and Crowley doesn’t have it in him to explain.  
His angel has worried enough for eternity and does deserve some breathing time.  
But he could surprise him for breakfast instead of lunch. _Aziraphale loves a good breakfast._

Crowley miracles his used closes clean and teleports them neatly folded into his wardrobe.  
He takes a scalding hot shower, dries off with a snap of his fingers and puts on some black skinny jeans and a grey v-neck shirt.  
He wipes the floor, dusts every surface and cleans all the corners and interstices in the kitchen and the bathroom with a toothbrush. Twice.

He gives his plants a scolding worth of a week, but they don’t seem to tremble as much as usual.  
He obviously hasn’t given them enough attention.  
One of them even decides to test him and drops a leaf. Right in front of him! As if to spite him!

All the others are waiting in terror for his outburst and say goodbye to their friend in silence, but the demon just stares furiously, snatches his jacket and shuts the door of the flat behind him with a resounding bang.  
He leaves behind a great deal of confusion and a cloud of sulphur.  
Were they right? Has their owner finally gone soft?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I hope the constantly changing POV doesn't confuse the hell out of everyone, I try to make clear whose POV it is, but please tell me if I fucked up somewhere.  
> And I'm not happy with the layout yet, but I guess I'll get the hang of it.  
> Hope you liked!
> 
> EDIT(13/04/2020):  
> Upon re-reading this chap, I found it to be a downright mess (layout-wise) and I hope I‘ve brought some more structure into it now.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys,  
> Next chapter is up, I hope you enjoy reading it! Tell me what you think about it in the comments :)
> 
> I‘m planning on posting once or twice a week, I don‘t know if I‘m going to do it on certain days, yet.

He drives the Bentley around for the a bit and, with a little demonic miracle, makes sure his favourite old school movie theatre opens for a spontaneous nightly special of The Godfather 1-3.  
A very befuddled and very tired staff member of the theatre, who looks like a man who has been deep asleep just 10 minutes ago and now finds himself sitting at his day job at 3 am in the morning in full uniform, hands him the ticket. 

Crowley naturally is the only one present and sprawls in a double seat.  
After a quick contemplation, he miracles some nachos and cheese. This will keep him busy till breakfast.

Around 8:00 he is growing impatient. The movie doesn‘t captivate him anymore.  
The angel doesn‘t sleep anyway, so he can as well drop buy now and say hello. They can have a cuppa and go out for breakfast. _Nothing to it._  
While heading for the exit, he throws his last nacho at the staff member to wake him. The man startles and gapes as if he has forgotten who he is and how he came here.

At his arrival Crowley finds the bookshop is still closed.  
When he first knocks on the door, nothing happens. Just when he raises his hand again the door cracks open without anyone to be seen.  
_Well, isn‘t that suspicious?_

He carefully steps inside, ready to jump at anything that could attack him.  
There‘s a thud from above and then Aziraphale is calling down from the upper floor: „Crowley dear, I did not expect you this early!“  
It sounds more delighted than annoyed. The demon releases the breath he‘d been holding. No danger here.  
_Everything‘s fine, idiot_.

„I will be right there, just have a seat!“  
Crowley strolls deeper into the shop towards his favourite armchair in front of the southern window. He stops in amazement.  
Right next to the armchair stands a new (new in sense of it-wasn’t-there-before, it looks decidedly antique and pricey) wooden coffee table, and on it the most beautiful orchid he has ever seen.  
It‘s big and luscious, with many thick and dark green leaves and countless clusters of vivid blossoms. The petals start a very dark red at the margins, almost black, than slowly change colour to a slightly brighter, velvet red towards the middle. There are little dots of deep and shining yellow peppered over the dark petals like stars. The pollen has the same colour.  
Crowley has never seen anything like it. It‘s magnificent.

„I bought it for you. Do you like it?“ Aziraphale asks behind him with a shy voice.  
He’s getting real good at sneaking up, the little bastard.  
The demon does not turn. He knows what his face must look like right now.  
„I thought I‘d upgrade your armchair a bit. I saw it yesterday in my favourite flower shop and it reminded me of you somehow.“

(In fact, this flower shop has never had a rare orchid like that before. It just miraculously showed up in the morning’s supply without having been ordered. Even more miraculously, not one customer has even so much as glanced at it until afternoon, while the owner can’t help but stare in amazement. It’s quarter to four when a blonde middle aged man takes it to the counter, leaves an absurd amount of cash, thanks him politely and exits again. The owner considers having a hallucination.)

Crowley almost turns. „I - it reminded you of me?“  
„Well, the yellow quite matches your eye colour and the petals have some of you hair in them, don‘t you think?“

He can‘t believe that he gets compared to something so fucking beautiful.  
„Angel. It‘s stunning.“ He finally croaks.  
It’s not fair to throw something like this at him in his tired state. Aziraphale has caught him completely off guard.

„Oh, I‘m glad you like it! I know you love plants and thought I‘d make it a bit more like home for you here. You come here all the time, so-„  
The angel has come up close from behind and is going to catch his look any moment.  
Crowley’s brain short-circuits.  
He does what he wants to do most right now (and what will also hide the vulnerable expression on his face) - he turns around fast and wraps the angel into a tight embrace.

„Mfroley?“ Comes a muffled voice from somewhere below his chin.

Aziraphale is slightly confused, but not unhappy.  
_It wasn‘t me this time! He did it on his own accord!_ His heart beats excitedly. But he can sense a bit of Crowley’s mood under his touch and it is so much different from the hug yesterday. Happiness, yes, but underneath a whole lot of anxious and tense.  
Naturally, he cannot help but worry. He moves his head to get some space and asks softly:  
„You alright, my dear?“  
„Ngk. Yeah.“ A sigh.  
„Just wanted to thank you. And. Err. Say hello? Greet you properly and such.“ It sound like he‘s admitting something shameful.  
He _is_ fucking embarrassed right now. What in the world did he just do?

Aziraphale lets out an amused little snort. „Well, hello then.“

When Crowley tries to extract himself from the hug, the angel holds contact by grasping his friends’ upper arms and takes a step back to have a look at his face.  
_He looks so weary_. Something is definitely off.  
„Did you have a good rest?“ He inquires.  
  
The demon doesn‘t look him in the eye. But Aziraphale won’t let go.

„Could‘ve been better.“ The other being admits at last.  
„Oh dear, I‘m always glad to see you, but you didn‘t have to come so early. Didn‘t we make lunch plans? You could‘ve slept a bit m-„  
„Argh, let it go, angel. Shush now. What were you even doing up there?“ He peers at the stairs.  
Crowley has only been on the upper floor once and vaguely remembers stacks of dusty books and maybe some furniture buried under even more books.  
Aziraphale looks suspicious, but lets it slide for now.

„I was reorganizing a bit, for when the kids come to visit. There‘s not much sitting space down here.“  
He absentmindedly runs his thumbs up and down Crowley‘s arms while talking, as he tries to sooth away the tension he can feel from the demon. Crowley leans into that and his eyelids half-close. There are so many deep lines in his face right now.  
_He doesn’t even protest against inviting the kids._  
One last try. „You can always talk to me if something bothers you.“  
Crowley’s shoulders slack as if in surrender and he raises his hand and puts it on top of the angel‘s.  
Aziraphale blushes adorably.

„I know. Not today. I… I don’t trust myself right now.“  
“Whatever do you mean?”  
“Okay, look, I probably _am_ a bit tired, yeah? Maybe all that celebration got to me more than I like to admit.”

That‘s the only reasonable explanation for all this hugging and touching. He is tired out of his mind, Crowley‘s sure of it.  
But deep down he also registers that Aziraphale didn’t let go, even though he could have stopped contact when the demon ended the hug.  
_This feels… nice._ Welp, he’s not sane right now and should stop _talking_ and _doing things_ immediately.  
„So you _do_ need some sleep!“ Aziraphale triumphs.  
_Bless it._  
„Yep. Nap. Nap it is.“ He rubs his face with one hand.  
Aziraphale chuckles. „Always the rebel. Come on, you can get some rest down here while I finish upstairs.“

He guides him by the elbow, over to his armchair. When he let‘s go, Crowley immediately misses the touch.  
Nevertheless he plops into the cushion and closes his eyes. Maybe his sleep will be calmer here. He definitely can’t go on like this. His energies are running out.  
He tips back his head and closes his eyes. The last thing he feels is a light touch of something on his hair, barely noticeable, then he‘s gone.

In his dream he slithers through hell‘s murky hallways. His split tongue tastes the rotten air.  
He has to be somewhere, has to find something important before it‘s too late. He dodges heavy boots and nasty claws around him, faster, further.  
Suddenly, his tongue detects a faint taste of hellfire and his insides feel like ice. Crowley increases his speed, stones and shards scratching his belly, muscles already screaming in pain. He can hear the angel now, crying out in agony. They are burning him! He has to save him! There are too many feet blocking his way and he is running out of stamina.  
He won’t make it. The hallway just goes on and on. While the traces of hellfire get stronger, the crying grows weaker. Then it stops.  
_Aziraphaaale, nonoNONOOO!!_

„Crowley?“ The angel sounds distressed, but alive. Is he alive?  
„My dear boy, I believe you had a terrible dream.“  
Where is he? He can feel his whole body shivering in the aftermath of the nightmare. It‘s uncontrollable. His heart is hammering away and his head seems ready to burst. He feels disoriented and scared.  
„Shh, my dear, everything‘s alright. It‘s alright. Don’t worry. It was a nightmare.“  
Guided by the angel’s voice his senses come back to him, and he realizes that he is resting somewhere very soft and warm.  
He can feel gentle hands now, caressing his body, holding him.

_Ngk._ Did he change into snake form while sleeping?  
Crowley slowly opens his eyes and finds himself scooped up in the angel‘s lap, who‘s got his arms around the trembling pile of snake before him and is softly stroking over his scales.  
“Hey there. See? You’re safe. It’s okay.”  
He cannot speak. He presses his eyes shut again and tries to get a grip. Listens to his heartbeat going down ever so slowly.  


Shit, the shivering won’t stop. He‘s glad he can at least not cry in this form.  
One embarrassment saved.  
He concentrates on his breath, concentrates on the warm palms against his skin and on his angel’s voice. It feels so soothing. So reassuring.  
After what feels like ages, he regains control over his muscles and the trembling subsides.  
„I am sorry you have to go through this. How can I help you? Do you need something?“  
Crowley thinks that he’s got all he needs right here, but doesn‘t speak the words.

„Sssanks, angel. Itsss going to be okay in a moment.“ He whispers.  
He can feel Aziraphale shift under him. Suddenly he is very aware of everywhere their bodies are touching _.  
Oh sssshit_.  
„Sss, you know what, maybe you can put me down now.“  
His voice is a little too high and gives away his unease.   
Unfortunately, Aziraphale catches up to his train of thoughts and his face goes a deep shade of pink.  


„Oh right! Right, of course, I, err, I just set you down, yes, then you c-can change back, alright, here we go.“  
Strong arms let him down on the floor and Aziraphale scrambles back onto the armchair. When Crowley changes form, he can feel his face burning up, too. _Traitorous body!_  
„Crowley, I‘m so sorry, I didn‘t mean to be intrusive...“ Aziraphale is wringing his hands and stares at his feet.  
Why does he always have to be so endearing?  
Crowley crouches down on shaky legs and puts his hands on the angel‘s knees.  
„Angel, look at me.“  


What Aziraphale sees is a deeply flustered demon right in front of him, hair askew, fiery eyes in a flushed face, full of honesty. It‘s so gorgeous that he holds his breath.  
„You don‘t need to apologize for anythin‘. You saved me right there, ok?“ 

It’s true. When Crowley’s unlucky, his nightmares can go on for hours, without him waking up at all. They’ve gotten like this towards Armageddon.

„Okay.“ Aziraphale slowly releases the air in his lungs.   
“I am glad I could help.”

The demon rises and starts running his fingers over some orchid blossoms. The angel watches every move.  
_My poor dear, what did you dream of? I have never seen you like this before…_  
Crowley turns and sees him staring. He flinches a little.  
„How long was I even asleep?“  
Aziraphale, feeling caught in the act, swiftly darts his eyes somewhere else.

„Maybe an hour or so. I thought I heard something weird and found you... You looked to be in such pain. And you wouldn’t wake up.“

The sadness in his voice gives Crowley‘s heart a squeeze.  
„Mhm. Happens sometimes.”  
Now it’s the angel’s turn to flinch and it doesn’t go unnoticed. Crowley strongly feels like he needs a few seconds alone, so he can decide what to tell him. Aziraphale won’t let him get away with some lame excuse after this.  


“Look, how about a cuppa? I could really use one.”  
The angel nods eagerly. „Of course! Please stay here, I‘m gonna get some right away.“  
Even though he's said that, his legs won’t move. He looks as if he‘s afraid to leave his demon alone. The other being sighs.  
“It’s okay angel, you can go upstairs without me having another melt-down. I like your handmade tea way better than the miracled one.”  
Aziraphale looks doubtful, but turns and walks towards the stairs.  
“Yes. I know, dear. I’ll be right back.”

In the meantime Crowley tries to get his thoughts in order. He motions one of the other armchairs over and sits down next to the orchid. His nose ends up right in front of a velvet blossom.  
_This one will probably be hard to intimidate after witnessing the whole incident_.  
He buries his face in his hands and prepares himself for what’s to come.

A few minutes later, the angel comes back down with a tray of tea and biscuits and sets it on the coffee table. He pours them both some and takes a bite from the baked goods.  
Then: „So, that wasn‘t the first time?“  
_Here we go._ Exactly what Crowley had wanted to prevent. But he doesn‘t have it in him to lie now.  
„ Nope.“  
Can I ask... what did you dream of?“  
The demon takes a sip. „It‘s always more or less the same.“  
Aziraphale looks at him expectantly.  
„These days it‘s mostly somethin‘ to do with Armageddon.“  
A pause. „I thought that you- it almost sounded like you called out my name.“  


The demon pinches the bridge of his nose. No going back now.  
„It‘s mostly hellfire and holy water. I burn. You burn. We both burn. Quite the fun.“  
He refuses to cry again. He has cried way more than enough. Aziraphale reaches out to him, but Crowley waves his hand away.  
„Just leave me be for a moment.“

There‘s a short silence. The angel cannot begin to comprehend the meaning of what his friend has just admitted. He seems to have a lot of nightmares.  
_Is it always like this when he tries to sleep?  
_ _No, it can’t be_.  
The demon had always enjoyed sleeping immensely. So this is a new problem?  
_And he has nightmares about me dying?_  
_He’s still afraid to lose me._

„I am sorry for the bandstand.“ he blurts out. Crowley is caught off guard the second time today.  
„You what?“  
„I. Am. So. Sorry. I was a coward. I should have just told you what I was thinking instead of pushing you away like that. It was horrible of me. I panicked and lashed out-„  
„Aziraphale, stop it.“ He sounds alarmingly calm.  
The angel starts pleading.  
„No please, I just want to explain, I never-„  
„No! Don‘t _. I’m begging you_. I am really trying to forget that blessed scene. I‘m too worn out to deal with this right now. I don‘t want to hear anymore, understood?“  
The angel gulps. Then, with a very small voice, he asks: „But can you ever forgive me?“

The demon’s eyebrows shoot up.  
„Ain‘t that obvious, you dumb angel?“ It sounds soft, not demeaning. „Wouldn‘t be here otherwise, would I?“  
Aziraphales sniffles and laughs at the same time.  
„Sorry for jumping that on you like I did. I’m gonna shut up now. _I_ should be comforting _you_ , not the other way round. “  
He sighs and cannot help but add: “I’m afraid I am not a very good angel.”  
“Well, I already told you, that’s the best thing about you.”  
Another sniffle-slash-laughter. “I promise to be better.”  
Then, in a much firmer voice: “Dear, I promise, I won’t let you down like that ever again.”

Crowley’s eyes widen, shining bright with something… “Angel, I-“  
Whatever Crowley wanted to say gets interrupted by a knock on the shop door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please don't hate me :'D
> 
> (And yes, still struggling with layout)


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we go, chapter number 4! Sorry it's a bit shorter than before.  
> Have a nice weekend everyone!  
> Cheers,  
> Lae

Aziraphale looks torn. His gaze flicks from Crowley to the door and back. It knocks again.

“Mr. Fell, are you there? I’ve got package for you!"  
“Oh. The postman.”  
He gets up hesitantly, still not sure if he should answer. The knocking grows louder.  
“Mr. Fell? I don’t want to have to send this back, like last time. Hello?”  
The angel’s shoulders slack. “I’m sorry, my dear, I’ll be right back.” He makes an apologetic face.

Crowley watches him bustle over and open the shop door. He can hear them talk.

“Ah Mr Fell. I had hoped you to be here. You don’t get packages often. Last time I could not reach you for weeks.”  
“Yes, I was abroad, I’m afraid.” Aziraphale tells him absentminded. “What are you bringing me today?”  
“Package from a Warlock Dowling, sir.”

Crowley straightens his back. The angel’s voice gets livelier.  
“From Warlock? Oh my! Whatever could it be?”  
“Well, dunno ‘bout that. I have to go on now, if you could please sign here? Thank you. Have a nice day, Mr Fell!”  
“Likewise, likewise…” There’s some rustling and a click, when he closes the door.

Aziraphale carries the small brown paper wrapped container as if it was a precious gem.  
He is so exited! He’s never gotten a package besides books or bureau equipment he ordered. The latter has actually been that shipment he’d missed, mentioned by the postman.  
He would _never_ miss receiving new books.

When he catches sight of Crowley, he has to stifle a laugh. The demon sits on the edge of his seat like an eager child waiting to be allowed to run to the Christmas tree and grab some gifts. Their conversation from before is forgotten for the moment.

(Aziraphale secretly calls the look on his face Crowley’s puppy dog eyes. The demon would shove him up a wall if he knew. He has noticed it before, when he’s told him not to trip people up for fun, or when Crowley really does _not_ want to do something. The look works more often than the angel would like to admit.)

“It’s from Warlock?”  
“Yes, it says so.”  
“What is it?”  
“I don’t know dear, how about we open it and see?”  
The demon mumbles something.  
“I’m sorry, what was that?”  
“Why do _you_ get somethin’? _I_ was his nanny. How did he even get your name and address?”  
Aziraphale chuckles. “My, could it be you’re jealous?”  
“What? Jealous? Me?! What do I care what the little monster does?”

He crosses his arms and – does this thing with his mouth, not really a pout, but close enough that the angel wants to pat him on the head and say something in the lines of “There, there.”  
_Oh dear, you really think you’re so convincing._

Loudly he says: “Here, we can unwrap it together, if you want to.”  
Crowley peers over at the small object.  
“Hmph. Go on then. The suspense is killing me.” His voice drips with sarcasm.  
_You prickly little shit,_ thinks Aziraphale.  
He gingerly frees the cardboard box from it’s paper wrapping and opens the lid. On top lies a slightly crumpled letter.  
“Oh look, he wrote something!”  
From the corner of his eye he can see Crowley shift in his armchair.  
“How about I read it out loud?”  
He doesn’t wait for another snarky comment and just goes on.

“ _Dear Brother Francis, or Mr. Fell!_  
_Adam says you go by Mr. Fell now and that you run a shop for_  
_really old books. That’s wicked! It’s how we found your address._  
_Suits you much betta than gardening, if you ask me._  
_I hope Mr. Crowley can also read my letter._  
_Adam says he is always with you and we could not find  
_his address. If he is not with you, maybe you can give it to him_  
_after reding. I also put something in the box for him.”_  
_

__

(Crowley is edging as close as he can without falling off his cushion.)

__

_“So I just wanted to thank you for saving the world, I guess._  
_I understand Adam did most of it, but you helped. That was real great!_  
_Adam and I have been phoning a lot. He can tell the best stories!_  
_Oh, he said to tell you to stop drinking so much, because it’s not ~~hethly~~ _  
_healthy. It’s funny how he knows these kinda things._  
_I don’t know why to tell you that. I always thought drinking much is healthy.”_

__

(There’s a muffled sound from Crowley that sounds suspiciously like a smothered giggle.)

__

_Anywho, just wanted to tell you that I’m fine._  
_Sometimes I worry over what happened in the summer?_  
_Scary things happened and I met very strange people…_  
_But Adam says you all got a eye out, so that’s fine, probably._  
_I’m going to Tadfield for the winter holidays. Only for the week_  
_before Christmas. But it will be wicked!_  
_Adam says we could come visit, if that’s okay with you._  
_~~Nanny~~ Mr Crowley has my number and Adam’s, too, so you can call_  
_if you want us to visit._  
_I hope you are both well. It’s been boring without you._

__

_Hope to see you soon,_  


__

_Warlock.”_

__

Underneath, in the narrow space that remained on the page, Warlock’s and Adam’s phone numbers are scribbled in tiny handwriting, probably just in case.

Aziraphale smiles brightly. “Aww, he is such a sweet child! And he seems to miss us! But I don’t know about all that Adam stuff. They are both little troublemakers in their own right, I’m afraid they will wrack havoc in Tadfield in the holidays.” He fumbles pensively with his bowtie.

Crowley has snatched the letter from him and reads it again. His eyes stumble over the crossed out Nanny part. He fails to fight off the fond expression on his face.

__

“Ach, Angel, maybe it wouldn’t be too much of a bother to have them here for a few days? If they really want to visit we can’t be such killjoys.”  
A muscle next to Aziraphale’s mouth twitches.  
“ _We?_ ” The “e” is pronounced extra long. “ _You_ tried to convince me they would burn down the bookshop for good if they came here.”  
“Yes, well, I – I may have overreacted there for a moment.”  
“Oh _really,_ have you now?” He knows he sounds bitchy and he owns it. He narrows his eyes.  
“O-kay, o-kay, you were right and I was wrong, is that what you wanna hear?”  
“It wouldn’t kill you to admit to your feelings for one damned time.”  
_Ooops._ That- had definitely been more than the angel had wanted to say.

__

Crowley doesn’t know what he is more shocked about – the swearing or the implication this sentence seems to hold. His voice grows louder.  
“Listen, I don’t know what you’re talki-“  
Aziraphale makes an appeasing gesture with his hands. “You miss him, dear.” It sounds the tiniest bit exhausted. “I miss him, too, you know? We agreed to be his godfathers. You were his _nanny_. Of course you would get attached to the child, you practically raised him. It’s okay to feel this way. There’s nobody here to judge you. You can stop pretending in front of me.”

__

As if it were so easy. _Don’t look so sad angel, I am really trying... Ah, fuck it._

“YesmaybeIdomisshim.” He mumbles begrudgingly.  
Aziraphale beams at him. “Thank you so much!”  
There’s no hint of sarcasm in there. Little crinkles are showing around his eyes and nose when he smiles this widely.

Crowley frowns. “What for?”  
“For trusting me, of course.”  
The demon blushes. “Now what did he say about there being somethin’ in this package for me?”

__

The angel’s eyes twinkle in anticipation. “Let’s have a look!” he declares and pulls out two rectangular, slim objects wrapped in more paper. Crowley comes over, sits down on the armrest of Aziraphale’s chair and watches him unpack.  
They are both picture frames. You can tell at first sight which is for whom.  
One is wooden and off-white, with little curlicues engraved in it, and looks worn out in a shabby chic way. Behind the glass, on ebony coloured paper, are carefully flat dried flowers, which both angel and demon recognize from the garden at the Dowling’s estate.  
The other looks modern and simple, just glass without a frame, and in there is a very skilfully executed and very colourful drawing of a fire breathing Tyrannosaurus rex. Both friends stare at them in awe.

“Oh, Crowley, how wonderful! Aren’t they wonderful?”  
The demon’s eyes are fixed on the picture in his hands. There are obnoxious parental feelings creeping up on him he would really like to ignore.  
“We should call him and give him our thanks, don’t you think? And we can tell him to come visit with the other rascals in the holidays.”  
Crowley does not answer, but snaps his fingers, looking at the coffee table. The tea tray disappears and there’s a faint chink of dishes from the flat above.

__

“Dear, are you with me?”  
“What? Ah yeah, thank him. Yes. Brilliant idea.”  
The demon pops up the thing at the back of the picture frame with delicate fingers to make it stand, and places the T-Rex next to the orchid with utmost care. The look on his face is soft and disbelieving, as if he doesn’t know how he deserves these gifts. It tugs at Aziraphale’s heart.  
“Don’t you want to take it home?” he asks.  
“No, I think it fits perfectly. If you don’t mind.”  
“Not at all, dear boy. It _is_ your spot after all.” He adds sweetly.  
“Ngk.”  
The angel grins.

__

“Shall I show you what I did upstairs then? I had to relocate heaps of books, I tell you, it was impossible to fit them all down here without some miracles. But now I think it looks rather nice.”

Crowley, who has trailed after him towards the stairs, notices that the bookshop somehow contains at least two more shelves than before, without the place actually being any bigger. If he squints his eyes and lets his gaze wander, the whole room seems to contort and curl, as if the space needs time to shift it all into perspective.

“Your little space-compressing-trick will make the humans nauseous.” He warns his friend.  
“I think most of them won’t even notice. “ The Angel dismisses his concern. “Their eyes don’t work like yours or mine. And those who do at least won’t want to buy anything.”  
The demon cackles. “Sometimes you can be quite naughty, you know? I like that.”  
He can see Aziraphale’s ears glow from behind.  
“I am merely thinking practical.” The other being argues while climbing up the narrow steps.

__

The demon ascends behind him and is suddenly faced with a full view of angel’s booty in custom-made cream coloured trousers. Never would he just pinch someone else’s butt without permission, despite being hell spawn and all that. But one can dream. _Ach, someday She will throw down a huge lightning bolt to send me straight back to hell for things like this._

__

(No, She probably won’t. Today hasn’t been the first time anyhow.)

__

“I really hope everyone likes it.” Aziraphale calls from ahead while switching on the lights.  
They step into a small and cosy flat, which is basically one surprisingly spacious room that contains a tiny beige kitchen on the left, a living room ensemble to the right and a square wooden table with six chairs on the far wall. There are two more doors.  
The living room ensemble consists of a crumply chestnut leather sofa topped with a folded powder blue woollen blanket and accompanied by matching armchairs; also a thick oriental carpet and a kidney shaped nutwood coffee table. In the corner next to the sofa sits a small coal-burning stove, merrily radiating warmth. On top of it a cast-iron Japanese teapot releases small clouds of steam. Next to one armchair lies a dangerously lopsided heap of pillows and there’s a news rack next to the other one. On the wall above the sofa hangs an oil painting in a broad golden frame which reminds Crowley of Monet’s “The beach at Pourville”.  
Aziraphale had always loved the impressionist.  
The coffee table is decorated with a copper plate that holds lots of pearly candles in different stages of burning down. There’s a colossal candy jar sitting on top of the kitchen counter, filled with sweets in all shapes and colours. The only window is framed by heavy midnight blue curtains. Although the furniture is, objectively, rather random, it all still fits together nicely and looks used, but well cared for.  
Crowley stands there and takes it all in, while Aziraphale self-consciously wipes some invisible dust off the kitchen counter.

__

“It’s lovely.” He decides.  
“Oh dear, and you’re not just saying that?”  
“No, it really is – “ He spins around 360 degrees. “ - it’s just so _you,_ angel. Although a bit different from down at the shop. You have managed to make it look more modern up here, without it being modern at all.” He laughs.  
Aziraphale looks pleased enough. “I really do hope the children will like it. They will have to stay here when they visit. I suppose you don’t want them to cause a mess in _your_ flat.”  
“Oh for somebody’s sake, please, no! Adam will lead my plants into a revolution or something like that.”  
He puts one hand at his chest and dramatically fakes having a heart attack.

The angel snorts. “I thought so. You’re always welcome to stay here with them if you want to. There’s a bedroom back there and I got all the books cleaned out of it, too.” He points at one of the doors and shrugs. “They’re at an age where they can sleep anywhere. Like on the sofa and on airbeds.”  
Crowley stares at him. Aziraphale wants him to sleep over? In his bed?!  
No no, not _his_ bed. The angel doesn’t sleep after all. It’s not like they would be sharing, would they? But the thought of five children sleeping in the next room makes him uneasy, too. He points it out to Aziraphale.

__

“I don’t want to frighten them. What if I have a nightmare and wake up screaming or I change into my snake form n’ scare them to death?”  
He hates to talk about the extent of his problem, but the angel has already figured out most of it and he cannot risk putting the kids in harm’s way.  
Still he’d be so happy to stay with them. He actually hopes for Aziraphale to have some solution.  
Crowley looks up hesitantly to see the angel’s reaction. The other looks puzzled, but to his relief, Aziraphale’s gaze is far from pitying.  
He looks like a man who’s pondering and then comes to an internal resolution.

__

After a few seconds he declares: “Then I just have to stay with you and make sure that doesn’t happen.”

__

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, let's be honest, we all saw that one coming :D
> 
> P.S.: The misspellings in Warlock's letter are on purpose ;)  
> P.P.S.: I managed to (mostly) fix the layout on chapter 3! Yay :'D


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Helloo,  
> here comes Chapter Five!  
> Thank you so much to everyone who left kudos, I'm so happy you like this fic!
> 
> The only thing I want to say about this chapter:  
> Oh my :3

Crowley gapes. “You want what now?”  
That is not the kind of fix he expected.

Aziraphale’s cheeks colour. “It’s a big bed.” He says defensively. “I can sit there and read and make sure you dream well.”

“No, you can’t.”  
This can’t be real. _I won’t last a whole night next to him without going mad._  
“Of course I can, I’m an _angel_.”  
“Can’t you just… seal the door or something? And make it soundproof? I’d do it on my own, but sleeping-walking-me would easily disable everything I’ve done.”

“Well, I could, but… how do we explain the runes, salt and burning sage to the children? It would be far easier to treat the root of the problem than making the door demon proof.”  
He doesn’t want to admit that furthermore, he couldn’t bear letting Crowley get in a state like that again. It won’t happen another time if he gets a say in it.

The demon cannot help but voice his disbelief. “I’ve been having these nightmares for ages now and nothing has helped in the slightest. Every time I try to fight them they just get worse. They don’t like to be meddled with.”  
He knows how paranoid this must sound, but it’s true.

“You talk as if they were living creatures.”  
“Well maybe they are. I am a demon. Who knows what my nightmares are capable of?”  
He throws his hands in the air. “Or maybe they are just another part of my eternal penalty.”  
Aziraphale mumbles something about Crowley being overly dramatic.

The demon can actually see that this could be the solution. Of course the Principality of the eastern gate would be able to fix his sleeping problem.  
But he doesn‘t want to become too dependent. He is already in head over heels. This love in him will become unbearable if the angel cures him like that.  
And what if Aziraphale gets tired of watching over him and he is left alone with worse nightmares than ever?  
He‘s afraid to taste the freedom in case it won‘t last.

_On the other hand…_ He nervously licks his lips.   
On the other hand he has, ironically, never been able to resist a good temptation. And a good sleep is _sooo_ fucking tempting right now.  
And part of him just wants to be closer to Aziraphale, no matter the risk.  
Aaand he could stay with the kids. With Warlock.  
Weighing his options only takes a few seconds.  


“All right angel, how about we give it a shot? You look a little worn out, too. I‘m going to lie down and you can have a good read and we see if it works. And after that, we go and have lunch.“

Aziraphale is a little startled about his sudden cooperation, but agrees:  
„Yes, of course, we just try it now and see how it goes.” He claps his hands together.  
“I am feeling a bit tired to be honest. Let me just get my book from downstairs, you can go and get comfy.“  
The angel points his thumb at the bedroom door and disappears down into the shop.  
_Gosh, now I’m nervous._ He really hopes this is going to work out. He is not entirely sure if demonic dreams work like human ones and if he can influence them like he is used to in humans.  
No, he cannot waver now. It would be such joy to help Crowley.

Aziraphale is determined to protect him from harm. He can still feel the huge snake shiver in a nameless terror.  
He had been so relieved when the demon had finally woken up and began to calm down. It had made him so sad and furious to see him suffer like that, he had to fight back his angry tears to not distress his friend even more.

The angel grabs his book, straightens his posture and turns back to the stairs.  
_I’ll prove to him that he can count on me. Here goes nothing._

Up in the flat, Crowley is inspecting the bedroom. It‘s nothing fancy, but looks as comfy as the rest of the furniture.  
A simple double bed with linen sheets which’s only luxury is the upholstered head piece, perfect for sitting and reading in bed. There‘s a big white dresser on one wall, a small window at the other. Next to the dresser is a tall and narrow mirror. Besides the room is empty.

Crowley kicks off his boots and regards his clothes. He is reluctant to lie down in his street outfit.  
With a snap of his fingers, he changes into black sweatpants and hoody.  
_Hm. Nope._ Another snap and he‘s in grey silk pyjamas.  
He stares at himself in the mirror. Maybe that‘s a tad bit much.  
He can hear Aziraphale coming up the stairs again and his mind goes blank. He snaps and stands in black boxer shorts and a worn out Queen fan shirt, an outfit he often likes to wear at home (where nobody can see) and which he now finds to be the pinnacle of embarrassment.  
The door opens.  
„Ngk!!“

„Oooh, err, sorry, sorry, I c-can come back later if you‘re changing,“ Aziraphale stutters while blushing furiously and holding the book in front of his face.  
And if he sneaks a little peek, what of it? He _is_ a bad angel after all.

His own blush is nothing compared to the demon‘s full-body flush. He actually expects smoke to come out of Crowley‘s ears any moment, as if he was a cartoon character.  
The demon has frozen mid-motion and seems to forget how muscles work for several seconds.  
Aziraphale glances at black-scaled slim feet, long and gangly legs, up to the waistband of the shorts, where the shirt has ridden up and at a bit of pale skin is showing...

„ _Angel, are you ogling me?!_ “  
Crowley would never admit to be shrieking, but that’s what he does.  
Aziraphale, mortified with himself yet again, squeezes his eyes shut.  
„W-what, nonono, I was just wondering if that‘s the band th-that keeps playing in the Bentley...“  
He can feel his blush creep up his ears and down his chest.

There’s some rustling and when he peels one eye open, he watches Crowley clamber into bed and pull the covers up to his beet-red nose and cheeks.  
„Is that so.“ The demon murmurs. „It‘s rude to stare at people like that, let me tell you.“  
_Like you‘re one to talk._  
Maybe his expression has gotten a little cocky, because Crowley narrows his eyes. He ignores it.

„Well then, I shall get myself comfy, too.“  
Aziraphale snaps and changes into long tartan pyjamas and thick cuddly socks.  
There‘s another murmur from the bed that sounds suspiciously like „Of course it‘s tartan.“  
„What was that, my dear?“ Aziraphale says without really listening.  
„If you‘re still wondering, it _is_ the band from the car.“  
„Ah, thank you.“

The angel eyes the bed nervously, then commences to sit down and arranges himself.  
He leans his back to the head piece, pulls up his knees and drapes the covers over them. Then he puts a pillow into his lap to rest his book on, while the window curtains shut on their own.  
Satisfied, he glances to his left, where Crowley‘s gaze is firmly fixed at the ceiling.  
„You really think it will work?“ The demon asks, mouth hidden under the blanket.  
„Like you said, it‘s worth a shot, isn’t it?“  
„Yeah. Welp, I don‘t know if I will be able to sleep at all.“ It sounds equally hopeful and desperate.  
„Don‘t worry about that dear, just close your eyes and let me do my magic. I’ll still be here when you wake up.“

Crowley inhales sharply and then does as told. Firtly, the only things he can feel are his overwhelming anxiety and his thumping heart.  
Then suddenly, he‘s washed by a wave of relaxation and feeling of security that drowns out the voice in his head that keeps yelling about LYING IN BED NEXT TO AZIRAPHALE, FUCKING HEAVENS.  
The angel‘s blessing wraps around his body like a cocoon and all anxious thoughts are drained from him. His consciousness is slipping away and he floats...

Aziraphale exhales slowly. So far, so good. He looks down at Crowley‘s slender frame beneath the covers. His sharp features soften when he sleeps, even his obstinate tousled hair seems to smooth down. Like this, his face looks ethereal.

_You‘re so beautiful_ , the angel thinks. He has to resist caressing the demon‘s cheeks and hair. It all looks very touchable.  
_No! You wanted to help him sleep peacefully, so let him be!_ He scolds himself.  
He opens his book. He glances back at the demon. “ _I love you._ ” He mouths.  
Then he browses through the novel until he finds his book mark.  
Time passes as both angel and demon rest in harmony, one awake and reading, one in sound slumber.

When Crowley comes to again, first thing he feels is someone holding his hand.  
_The fuck?!_  
His whole body jerks awake at once, his eyelids shoot up and he stares at a quite startled Aziraphale, sitting next to him.

The angels sighs. „Dear. You surprised me there. Did you sleep well?“  
Crowley just keeps staring. His brain doesn‘t supply one single coherent thought. His hand twitches, but neither of them lets go.

„Everything alright? You didn‘t have a nightmare, did you?” The angel starts fussing. „I thought I had made sure - „  
„No, it‘s just-“ He gulps.  
“Angel. _Aziraphale_. Are we- are we _holding hands?_ “

It’s not a repercussion; it sounds so genuinely baffled that Aziraphale forgets to be embarrassed and just snickers.  
„That is quite correct, my dear. You kept stirring and only calmed down when I took your hand.“  
The angel briefly thinks of using some excuse like, he needed the skin contact to make the blessing work properly or something, but he's not entirely sure that's what happened here.  
"I discovered it's the easiest way to secure your sleep over a long time."

_Over a long time?_  
„How long was I even asleep?“ The demon asks for the second time today.  
„Oh, I‘d say, about 6 hours?“  
„Bloody heavens. So it‘s evening?!“  
He cannot believe it.  
„No, not yet, but nearly there. Are you feeling a bit better?“

The demon stops and listens to his body. _Better? A LOT._  
Also very giddy because he is holding hands with his angel!  
_Ahhhh. I am awake now. Why hasn’t he let go? Should I let go?_  
Now Aziraphale even brushes his thumb over the back of Crowley‘s hand. He just wants to melt.  
And he wants to disappear. And melt. And also scream.

Then he remembers that the angel is waiting for an answer.  
„I‘m good. Yep. Great actually. I don‘t remember sleeping so good since... forever.“  
His voice is shaking. It’s a mixture of shock and awe.  
„I didn‘t think it would- I mean, no offense, I know you know your stuff, but for it to work like that, you are j-just truly amazing.“  
_Argh, that came out_ way _soppier than intended._ The words slipped out without thinking twice.  
The angel‘s cheeks darken.  
„For you, anytime.“

Ah, Crowley will definitely melt on the spot. And he knows from deep within his guts that his fate is sealed. His heart will never recover from this. He is utterly fucked. How is he supposed to ever act normal again after this?  
His friend, probably sensing his unease, starts to pull his hand away.

 _No! It can‘t go on like that!_  
He can‘t be reduced to jelly every time they touch, he refuses to – to give in like that! Like a weak person! He is a demon and he still has his pride!

Crowley is well rested and his mind clears. He wants to make Aziraphale feel – well, the same way he does. He has to take action.  
Feeling very bold, he grabs Aziraphale‘s retracting hand and sits up.  
His yellow eyes search for blue ones and their gazes lock. He can feel the angel‘s blood pulse faster underneath his hand.  
„Angel, I mean it. I can‘t thank you enough for today. Thank you for caring.“

Then he leans forward slowly and pecks a kiss on Aziraphale’s forehead.  
It‘s just a short and chaste brush of lips against skin, but to the demon it tastes sweeter than honey.  
The angel has clamped down on his hand and his breath goes heavy. His eyes are very wide and very shiny. “Dear, what-?”  
_Yes, that’s more like it. He looks so adorable when confused._

Crowley jumps out of bed. His embarrassing outfit is forgotten.  
“Come on angel, I’m feeling like – hmm, Indian! Let’s have lunch!”  
Aziraphale looks even more dumbfounded and laughs. His chuckle still sounds a little out of breath.  
“You mean dinner.”  
“Yes! Dinner! Let’s do it!” He twists and miracles himself into his favourite black jeans, and because he’s feeling festive, into a white button down shirt with silvery cufflinks and a pinstripe blazer.  
He grins broadly at the angel. 

_Why, why does he have to look so stunning?_  
Aziraphale still has to come to terms with what just happened.  
_I didn’t dream that, did I? He held on to my hand. And he gave me a kiss. A real one. On the forehead. But a kiss. And now we are just going to act like nothing happened?_

“You going to sit there all day?”  
The mischief glittering in Crowley’s eyes is contentious.  
It helps Aziraphale to regain his composure.  
“Says the one who crashed in my bed _all day_.”  
The demon cocks one eyebrow. “Oooh, cheeky.”  
“Tsk, shush now, I’m already up, see?”

He changes into his standard bowtie-and-waistcoat ensemble and combs his hair with his fingers. When he looks in the mirror, he can see Crowley fumbling with a tie behind him.

“Bless it, even when I miracle them, they never turn out quite right.”  
Aziraphale senses an opportunity for revenge.  
“You don’t need it, dear, you already look fabulous.” He replies over his shoulder with his most charming smile, which makes the demon jump and then vanish the tie into thin air at once.  
He turns to the door. They both grin to themselves.  
This evening will be so much fun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's it for today :3  
> Next chapter will be longer again, I promise!  
> Feel free to comment on this work, I'd appreciate it :)  
> Have a good start into the week!


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- SPOILER/TW i guess? -
> 
> Before letting you into this chapter, I'd like to point out that our favourite beings are going to discuss their gender identity in it. This may be a sensitive topic to some, so I wanted to give a little warning, though it's far from an angsty discussion. Keep in mind that I wrote this solely from their ethereal/occult point of view. Especially in Aziraphale's case, it is the opposite of everything humans struggle with when being born with a gender they didn't sign up for.
> 
> Also, they‘re drinking wayyy to much here.
> 
> Hope you like :)

They drive to the restaurant in the Bentley, where Crowley just leaves it parking in second row right in front of the entrance.  
He opens the door for Aziraphale with a little exaggerated bow. The angel gives him a flirtatious smile in return and winks as he walks by.

The teasing just doesn‘t stop, and they‘re both having immense fun with it.

After their meal, the angel is in spirits so high, he even let‘s the tow truck vanish that is attempting to remove the Bentley from the street.  
Crowley flails his arms dramatically going: „Angel, what have you done?“  
But Aziraphale just shrugs and says: „Don‘t worry, they‘re still in England. If you did it, who knows where they‘d have ended, poor souls. Your aim in such things was always a bit off.“  
„Oi! Do you want me to give you a ride or would you prefer a cab?“ Crowley threatens.  
„Oh, don‘t get all worked up, dear. Who knew your ego was so fickle?“ The angel asks provokingly while getting into the car.

Crowley folds himself into the driver‘s seat, ignoring the horn of the car he‘d boxed in with his own.  
„You really mean that?“   
The demon‘s eyes are hidden behind the usual sunglasses, but his expression seems alarmingly dark.  
Aziraphale is shocked.  
„No, of course not! I thought we were just fooling about dear, I didn‘t-„  
„ _Haaahaaa_ , got you there!“ The demon exclaims with glee, changes into gear and the Bentley takes off roaring into the night.

The angel gets pressed into his seat, and holds onto the handle tightly. He hates racing around like that, even though Crowley makes sure not to harm any pedestrians when he‘s with him.  
„I really wish you‘d drive more civilized.“ He grumbles for the up-teenth time.  
„Ach Angel, what‘s the fun in that?“  
The Bentley does a little hop over a toddler that‘s run away from it‘s startled parents, right onto the street.  
The child doesn‘t notice. Aziraphale sure does.  
„Crowley, _please_.“ He begs through gritted teeth. „Where are we even going?“  
„This vintage club you like so much. You know, the real classy and boring one with the old fashioned drinks?“  
„Just because it has ambient lights and smooth music and neither exotic dancers nor cocaine does not make it boring.“ Aziraphale proclaims pointedly.  
„Suit yourself. I was only going there to treat you to something you like, but if you‘re going to act like this...“ He switches lanes abruptly.  
„Alright, I‘m sorry already! Go on, just please don‘t hurt someone.“ The angels laughs while patting Crowley‘s hand.  
The car changes lanes again.

They are touching so easily today. The demon is waiting for their bubble of carefreeness to burst any moment.  
Until then, he just tries to savour it all, the teasing, the smiles, the food, the anecdotes shared, Aziraphale’s radiant eyes and his own fluttering heart. It‘s so effortless.  
_I wish it would go on like this forever._  
Of course it won‘t, 'cause this is not the way a demon‘s life can go. Disaster is always lurking around the next corner, whether he wants it or not.  
So, enjoy while it lasts.  
_I want to make him smile as much as possible until it all goes up in smoke._

The club is as described, a very posh and uppity place, that‘s allegedly original art deco, but has only been here for the last few years.  
Far too quiet for Crowley’s taste. The drinks which come in crystal glasses are good nonetheless.

The two indulge in them for a few hours, until a very irritated service person escorts them to the door for disturbing the other costumers, while the demon doesn‘t care to tune it down and continues to howl away in a fit of laughter.  
„PORNOGRAPHY!“ He yells, not for the first time, wiping away the tears in his eyes.  
„Angel, that‘s marvellous, why haven‘t you told me that one before?!“  
Aziraphale has been laughing just as hard and tries to catch his breath.  
„I... dunno... hehe. I just remembered... was... too distressed at the moment... itself... now it‘s just so funny... my goodness, the look on my costumers‘ faces. “  
He dabs his face with a handkerchief. They are strolling towards the Bentley, which they've left in front of a no-stopping-sign.

„Maybe the whole neighbourhood thinks you‘re secretly running a business for retro pin-ups or something now.“ Crowley ponders with obvious joy on his face.  
„Pfft, please, they already think me to be as gay as a picnic basket. They‘d probably just say it fits.“  
The demon looks nonplussed.  
„It doesn‘t bother you?“  
„No, why should it?“ Aziraphale sounds astounded.  
„Well, I mean, _I_ knew that you’re queer, but I‘ve always thought you‘d wanna keep it secret because of your lot.“ He points his index upwards conspirationally. The angel does a dismissive gesture with his hand.  
„I‘ve come to the conclusion that they don‘t really care. The “all queer folk will burn in hell”-nonsense is a human invention, anyway. They regard all creatures as dispensable and beneath them, no matter what gender or sexuality. “  
It sounds bitter. „Besides, they neither have nor understand genders.“

_He’s still heartbroken about Heaven._ Crowley thinks. But he doesn’t want to go into detail about _that_ now.  
„Technically, you don‘t have one either.“

„Haven‘t I? This body has been with me for so long, it has merged with my identity. Though I must admit, I've always felt most comfortable with it from the beginning. It just happened naturally? I am male, as far as I’m concerned.“  
Crowley nods approvingly.  
“I think that’s another aspect as to why they don’t care. None of them have been with a material body as long, they don’t get what it does to your self-image.”  
Aziraphale glances at his companion, his face full of curiosity.  
„What about you? You‘ve always been pretty fluid in appearances. I’ve wondered if you think of yourself as a gendered being.“  
The demon scratches his neck.  
„No, I guess? It‘s pretty hard to explain? I always feel myself, no matter which form. I am always the demon Crowley. I prefer this form-“ He points up and down his body. „- to the others, but I also like being a woman from time to time. Or a snake.“ He shrugs. „If I’m like this, I feel male. If I’m a woman, I feel female.“  
Aziraphale shortly wonders if the snake form is gendered, too. He will save this question for another time. 

“Could you change your gender if you wanted to?” The demon inquires.  
“Only if I left this body behind and took another one. Angels are meant to be beings of truth and light and therefore our earthly shells aren’t made to be morphed like that. I can glamour myself to appear female to human eyes, but underneath it would still be the same body.”  
“I see.”

The angel’s smile is warm.  
“Why have we never talked about this before?”  
“Dunno. Maybe too private? Us being hereditary enemies ‘n all that.”  
“Yes, maybe, my dear.”  
Aziraphale thinks it’s probably his fault, that they’d consistently kept their distance. They could always talk about anything and everything, but rarely about themselves. He hopes they can make up for lost opportunities now.

“Well, I am enjoying it thoroughly. It’s nice to philosophize with you like that again. We haven’t had such conversations nearly enough lately.”

Crowley flinches from the kind words and kicks a pebble.  
„We were too drunk or stuffed most of the time. Though we’re not especially… on dry ground now.”  
Aziraphale giggles and the demon grins at him.  
“Where are we going next?“  
„How about the bookshop? Don‘t make that face-„ Crowley has pushed down the sunglasses and does the puppy dog eyes- „I‘ve added some very nice new wines to my collection, I think you‘ll appreciate them.“  
That seems to placate the other. „Hm, sounds good enough.“ He gives in graciously. 

He opens the Bentley‘s door for the angel, who shakes his head.  
„Oh dear, we had too much alcohol to drive home! Do you really want to sober up now?“  
„I promise I will drive as little as possible. The car does most things on it‘s own anyway.“  
“That’s not very reassuring, Crowley!”  
After a few minutes of discussion he manages to coax Aziraphale inside and repents at once.  
The angel is even more fidgety than normal and will have him crawling up the walls if it goes on like this. And the drinks were far too good to waste them by sobering up now.  
After five minutes he‘s had enough. He concentrates very hard, focuses on the bookshop, there‘s a kind of pulling sensation behind his navel, he turns the next corner and there it is.  
They arrive in Soho.

Aziraphale gapes.  
„I didn‘t know you could do short cuts like that!“  
He tries to ignore what this act of power does to his insides.  
„I thought it‘d take less energy than bringing you here the normal way.“ Crowley sighs while getting out of the car. He feels a bit dizzy in fact, but tries not to let it show.

„I am not a delicate flower!“ The angels chides from the other side of the Bentley.  
„Then don‘t behave like one!“  
Aziraphale turn his head and sticks out his tongue while unlocking the door.  
The demon snickers.  
„Was that supposed to rile me up? It looked far too cute for that.“  
The angel blushes and promptly drops his keys. Crowley, already at his side, squats down to pick them up. When he looks up, he meets Aziraphale‘s eyes.  
„I, errm, here you go.“ He holds them towards his angel like an offering. The blush deepens.

„Ngk, come on, if you look at me like that I’ll feel like I‘m proposing here.“  
It was meant to be a joke, but his mouth goes dry when he finds his friend to be looking like that wouldn‘t be the worst idea.  
_No! You‘re over-analysing! He‘s just awkward! Why did I have to say that? Pleeease, take the keys now..._

 _Aziraphale, get it together! You‘re standing there like a buffoon!_  
Snapping out of it, he fetches the keys from Crowley‘s hands and trips over the doorstep.  
He steadies himself, while all the lights switch on miraculously.  
He can feel the demon close behind him, the warm breath on his neck; he almost believes that he can sense the body heat through his closes.  
Aziraphale can feel goose bumps spreading from where the balmy air touches his skin.  
„Hey, could you move a bit so I can close the door?“ Crowley mumbles softly.  
The angel almost jumps, in spite of the low voice.  
_Aziraphale, don't just freeze! Move!_  
He takes a few more steps inside, proceeds to shrug out of his coat and hangs it on a rack.  
He can feel yellow eyes follow his every move. He ignores them.

 _I need more alcohol, now!_  
A small detached part of his brain (that sounds suspiciously like the Antichrist) tells him that this is probably not the healthiest coping mechanism.  
He ignores that, too.

The angle miracles two glasses and a bottle of Bordeaux and drops into his armchair.  
Crowley follows shortly after. The pinstripe jacket is gone, his sleeves are rolled up and he opens a few buttons at the top of his shirt. Then he sprawls in his seat and carefully sips his wine.  
„That‘s a nice one.“ He proclaims without real enthusiasm.  
His thoughts are spinning around the angel’s reaction at the doorstep.  
„Glad you like it.“ The other says flatly.  
There‘s an awkward pause.  
Then Crowley speaks again.  
„I hope you aren‘t cross with me? I didn‘t wanna upset you, t‘was just a joke...“

 _Of course it was a joke._  
The angel didn‘t perceive it for anything different, but for one moment he had wished with all his being that it had been real. That Crowley would finally declare his eternal love for him.  
Nonsense. He had deluded himself into thinking that this evening had been more than it was. The kiss on the forehead, all the compliments, the teasing and the alcohol got to him.  
Surely the demon just wanted to entertain him and didn’t have any further intentions.

“Sorry dear, I’m probably just tired.” Ugh, his voice sounds monotone.  
When has he become such a nervous wreck around the other?  
_Probably when he saved my books at the bombing, but let’s be honest, it has gotten far worse since then._  
Every time Crowley does something remotely nice of selfless, the angel's love for him grows exponentially. There is no sign of stopping. And he’s sure he’ll be getting into big trouble because of it. _I don’t know if I can go on like this._

_Okay Crowley, you’ve done it now. It always ends up in disaster._  
Aziraphale has gotten into one of his brooding moods. In Crowley’s experience it’s hard to break him out of these.  
But something in him does not want to give up like that.  
After all the evening had been a success until now.  
His fighting spirit awakens. Now, how could he cheer up his angel?

He eyes the other being warily. A pale-faced Aziraphale just downs a brim-full glass of red wine in one gulp.

_Oh shit, he’s reeeally upset._  
He remembers their talk about bodies from before and comes up with something incredibly dumb.  
So dumb it _might_ just work. But he’s still too sober for something like that. He eyes his beverage, then imitates the angel in chucking down the whole glass of Bordeaux and gets ready.

When Aziraphale looks up from pouring two more glasses of wine, Crowley’s armchair is empty.  
Instead a big snake lies to his feet.  
“Look angel, I can do the alphabet!” The demon declares and curls himself into the small letter “a”. Then he does b, c, d and e, while the angel’s expression softens.

He starts to look genuinely interested.  
When it comes to “f”, Crowley stops.  
“Hmm, I’d probably need a ssstick or something for thisss.” He contemplates.  
“You could just do the cursive one.” Aziraphale suggests while a smile is spreading on his face.  
“Oh yesss, if I go like that, and thisss goesss here…” The snake twists it’s body enthusiastically.  
“Yesss, look, I got it!” It sounds so stupidly happy that the angel cannot help but laugh.  
“Impressive, my dear. Now what about the other ones?”

And Crowley gives his best. Aziraphale watches, his chin propped up on one arm, the other holding his glass, and helps whenever the snake seems lost.  
They both laugh about the straight line that’s supposed to be “i”. Crowley fails gloriously when trying to be the cursive version of letter “k”.  
“I jussst can’t angle myssself that sharply, I am a sssnake, not a folding rule!”  
Aziraphale hides his grin behind his Bordeaux.

“Now that’s just a wave!” The angel comments on letter m.  
“Well then come here and do it better!” Crowley snaps without real menace.  
Surprisingly, Aziraphale slides to the floor and leans his back to the armchair.

“You-u can stop now, if you wanna.” He slurs. “Thanks for cheering me up, my dear.”  
“Bollocksss, you’ve ssseen right through me.” The snake mumbles.  
The other being chuckles.  
“Welp, it’sss nissse to sssee you happy again. Totally worth it.”  
Crowley slithers over and raises his head up to the angel’s face.  
“Pleassse don’t hold it againssst me later, I ssseem to be quite drunk.”  
“So am I, darling, sooo am I.”  
Crowley snickers. His flickering tongue unintentionally finds Aziraphale’s nose, who wrinkles it in a very cute way and giggles.  
“Hey, that tickles!”  
_Don’t be jelly, don’t be jelly, blesss it, he isss jussst ssso cute…_

The angel gazes at the snake that is Crowley. He feels very hot and confused. Also quite drunk.  
The demon clearly wanted to lift his mood with his little stunts. It makes his insides all tingly.  
He thinks of Crowley kissing his forehead in bed earlier today... _Maybe I can thank him the same way?_

Aziraphale throws all doubt away, raises his hand and cups the snake’s head with his palm; then he gently presses a kiss on top of it.  
The scales are warm and smooth under his lips. _Hmm, that feels nice._  
He closes his eyes and the snake snuggles tighter to his hand. Apart from that, Crowley doesn’t move.  
So he kisses him again.  
And again.  
Then he stops to look at his demon.

Crowley stares at him wide eyed. He withdraws his head without letting his counterpart out of sight.  
Then he changes back into his jeans-clad figure, face flushed and hair askew, crouching right in front of Aziraphale. The angel can sense passion and want all the way over.  
“Angel, what are you…”  
But Aziraphale won’t let pesky questions get in the way now.  
Moderation and reserve haven’t gotten him anywhere.  
He clumsily gets up on his knees, moves his body forward and grabs the demon by the collar in a bold motion.  
“Just tell me if you want me to stop.” He whispers.

Crowley is panting heavily, but doesn’t say another word. The angel leans in, peering at his lips.  
The demon can’t think. He can’t move. Aziraphale’s smell washes over him like a drug and he wants to get lost in it. Is he really allowed to want that? Can he have his cake and eat it, too?  
What if it all goes downhill from here?  
He looks into blue angel eyes that are shining with encouragement and thinks one last thought:  
_Bless it all!_  
Then he cups Aziraphale’s face with his hands and leans in, too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :3
> 
> Crowley doing the alphabet with his serpent body was actually inspired by a little comic on insta that I cannot find again for the life of me. In it, Crowley makes the eternity sign to show his angel how much he loves him.  
> Maybe anyone knows it? :)
> 
> And for those who are wondering, we are about halfway through the chapters I've pre-written for this fic, though it will probably get longer. :D


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone,  
> how're you doing? :)  
> Welcome all new readers and again, a thousand thank you's to everyone who left kudos!  
> Upon re-reading this chapter, I discovered I didn't like it at all. So I've spent the last days editing it thoroughly :'D But now I'm quite content with it. It did give this fic it's title, after all.  
> I hope you like it!  
> Cheers,  
> Lae
> 
> TW: Adams‘ parents are being transphobic here, no slurs or anything violent, but mistrust because of Crowley‘s appearance as Warlock‘s nanny.

Neither of them will later be able to describe what it felt like, exactly.  
Maybe like something had shifted in the universe and a piece had fallen into place, that had always belonged, but never been able to fit there.  
But to be entirely honest, they are both dizzy with longing and love, and Bordeaux, their heads spinning too hard to really wrap them around the moment.

Firstly there’s a soft, uncertain meeting of lips.  
They concentrate on even the lightest touch, the smallest contact, every inch of skin on skin. They brush their lips against each other carefully, exploring new terrain.  
They taste each other’s wine-heavy breaths and drink in each other’s smells. It’s intoxicating.

Crowley digs his fingers into Aziraphale’s soft blonde locks and runs them down his neck, slowly pulling the angel deeper into the kiss. Aziraphale sighs into his mouth in response, and the demon can feel goose bumps spreading all over his body.  
The other being’s left hand still holds on to Crowley’s lapel; the right one has moved and lies on the spot of bare chest where the demon has opened a few buttons before, spreading warmth into his pale skin like a ray of sun.  
He tries running his tongue over the angel’s lower lip and gains an immediate reaction - Aziraphale pulls him even closer and presses their mouths together.

Their pace quickens and the kiss grows frantic. Tongues meet and breaths grow heavier; they cling to each other like drowning people, bodies flush against each other.  
When Aziraphale’s teeth start nibbling on the demon’s lower lip, a small moan escapes Crowley’s throat. It wakes him from his haze, and he leans back a tiny fraction.

“A-angel, I think we should go a little slower.” He stutters.  
“Oh, okay.”  
Aziraphale tries hard not to sound too crestfallen, and obviously fails. It’s not like the irony of his demon’s words is lost on him.  
Not on Crowley either, and his eyes widen.

“No, look, it’s not that I don’t wanna… you’re perfect, I just... I can’t…”  
The demon is lost for words. His hands are making helpless little gestures and his mouth opens and closes again, like a fish’s on dry land.

“What is it, my dear? Did I do something wrong?”  
Aziraphale wants to help him sort it out, _needs_ to sort this out, before his heart explodes over all of it.  
“Please, talk to me.” He whispers, a lump forming in his throat.  
He doesn’t know if his touch is still welcome and he retracts his hands, leaves them hovering between their bodies with uncertainty.

Crowley feels like a vice is closing around his chest. His vocal chords are barely working around the panic that has risen in him. He’s been overcome with an irrational and unbearable fear.  
“Are you _sure_ you want this?” He finally manages, the words forcing their way off his tongue. 

What he means to ask is: Are you sure you want _me_?  
Are you sure you’re not just _pissed out of your mind_ and won’t regret it later?

But Aziraphale gets the implication either way and his eyes light up like blue flames, furiously burning, because Crowley thinks he isn’t good enough, and he thinks this could just be a drunk mistake or a spontaneous whim for Aziraphale, and the angel cannot have that.  
Not. At. All.

He takes a steadying breath and smiles his warmest, most vulnerable smile.  
He tenderly takes his demon’s hand and puts it on his chest, right above his heart, mimicking the touch he has himself administered to Crowley before.  
He keeps it there, firmly in place, and runs his thumb over slim fingers.  
Crowley’s pupils are blown, and his desperate expression has softened with disbelief, and hope.  
Definitely hope.  
The angel holds eye contact and his voice resounds soft and clear.  
“At the risk of being awfully cheesy my dear, I want you to know that I’m all yours - for as long as you’ll have me.” 

He can see the words sink in.  
Then Crowley practically pounces and crushes him in a hug. They tumble backwards against the armchair and the demon sits on top, his arms slung around the angel’s neck.  
Aziraphale can feel the other being tremble slightly in his arms and tightens the embrace.  
Crowley presses his cheek against the angel‘s and he can hear him whisper. „I can‘t believe you‘d want me.“  
_Oh love, you don‘t deserve all the pain and self-loathing you’re going through. You deserve so much more._

Aziraphale moves his head and nudges Crowley with his nose, so he can firmly fit their lips together again. He runs his hands through the demon’s fiery hair and tries to let all of his emotions flow into the kiss, the love, the adoration and the longing he‘s been bottling up for ages.  
And Crowley doesn’t hold back anymore, either, sucking and licking and nibbling on tender flesh until they are both gasping for air they don’t need, and their lips are bruised and red.  
It's just on this side of desperate, their souls and corporations crushing together like this, connected like never before. Crowley‘s mouth is so pliable, so savoury, only sheer will power helps Aziraphale end the snogging with a few sweet pecks.  
Taking a shaky breath, he says: „And I am going to prove it as many times as it takes.“

Crowley‘s laugh sounds raspy. He tips his head back, listening to the pulse hammering in his ears.  
He tries to grasp it all and fails.  
Aziraphale - wants him. He‘s kissed him! And held him! And told him that he‘s his!  
There‘s a hurricane of joy dancing in his chest that even his gigantic pessimistic side can‘t kill.  
To hell with it or to heaven! He doesn‘t care right now.  
What if it all blows up in his face later?  
He feels more alive than ever.  
He grins stupidly into his angel‘s face, who smiles at him happily.  
„Now that‘s better, my dear.“ 

Crowley reaches out and strokes some blonde curls from Aziraphale‘s face.  
„Yeah.“  
His fingers brush the angel‘s ear. He can see the fine hairs on Aziraphale’s skin stand up.  
„Hmm, you like that?“ He circles his finger on the lobe.  
The angel goes pink for the hundredth time today.  
„C-crowley, what in heaven‘s name-?“  
„Oh, don‘t bring them into this angel.“ He purrs.

The Principality in question snatches his hand and pulls it away from his head, in a herculean effort to stay in control.  
„Stop that, you foul fiend!“ He exclaims a tad desperately.  
It sends the demon into a fit of giggles and he barely holds his place in the angel’s lap.  
Aziraphale sticks his tongue at him.  
Crowley observes his mouth with a predatory gaze and starts to move closer…

„No, really now! We ought to get some rest if we don‘t want to sober up by miracle.“

(They both have developed a distinct aversion against that. It comes with dull headaches, retching and a gross taste on their tongues. _Bleh._ )

Crowley pouts. „What? Why do we need to sober up?“  
„Because my dear, if you take a look at the clock, it‘s already Tuesday.“  
„And?“  
„We‘re having guests today!“  
The demon rolls his eyes.  
„Ach, just cancel!“  
„Must I remind you that without Madame Tracy I probably wouldn‘t be here right now.“

Crowley harrumphs, but doesn‘t argue anymore. Instead he leans forward and hugs Aziraphale tightly. “It’s just that I don’t want to move from this spot.” He mumbles, surprisingly honest.  
“I guess I wouldn’t mind staying like this a bit longer.” The angel answers softly.

He shifts positions a bit, so their bodies fit together more comfortably, and drinks in Crowley’s wonderful scent.  
The demon runs his fingers through the short strands of hair in Aziraphale’s neck and the angel relishes in the gentle touch, closes his eyes and gets lost in the moment.  
After a while, Crowley’s hand stills and he tilts dangerously sideways. Aziraphale fastens his grip and looks at him.  
“Crowley? – Crowley, darling, I think you fell asleep.”

The other being startles and straightens his posture, blinking confusedly.  
“What? Err… oh.” He squints at the angel’s face and blushes.  
“M’sorry.”  
“You don’t need to be. It is quite late. I think we should call it a night, shouldn’t we?  
“Yeah.” The demon yawns widely. Aziraphale marvels at pearly white teeth and canines a bit too sharp for human standards.  
Crowley carefully extracts himself from his seating and rises to his feet. He offers Aziraphale a hand, which the other takes gratefully.

“Would you care for some water?” The angel asks.  
Crowley scowls. “Are you trying to poison me?”  
“Oh, of course, that’s been my plan all along.” Aziraphale rolls his eyes and gestures at their glasses where the remaining wine changes colour.  
“What a waste of good alcohol.” Crowley comments.  
He's never too tired to be snarky.  
“I’ve got more where that came from. Now here, you’re welcome. Drink up!”

They empty their beverages slowly. The angel cannot help glancing at Crowley’s bopping Adam’s apple.  
They set down their respective glasses.  
Then they both start talking at the same time.  
„Angel, should...“ - „Crowley, you...“  
They both chuckle, then Aziraphale says:  
„After you.“  
The demon looks incredibly self-conscious.  
„Should I go home?“

It takes the angel by surprise.  
„Err, If you want to go home, I‘d understand, I mean, you really don’t have to…”  
He mentally crosses his fingers and wishes Crowley to stay. _Please don’t go, please don’t go-_  
„Do you need some time alone?“ The demon interrupts.  
Aziraphale shakes his head vigorously. „No, not at all. Do you?“  
„I‘d rather stay.“

It‘s the first time after innumerable nights at the bookshop that he‘s brave enough to say it out loud, and without disguising it under some sarcastic notion. The words are of great importance to him.

„Come on then, let‘s go to bed.“  
The angel snatches his hand and leads him upstairs; he won‘t let go until they‘re inside the flat. Crowley trudges after him, relieved he doesn’t have to part with Aziraphale again.  
In the bedroom, he changes into his Queen shirt when something attracts his attention.  
Aziraphale, who‘s just miracle-changed into pyjamas in front of the mirror, catches him checking out his butt.

„Crowley!“ He exclaims. „Weren‘t you the one to berate me about staring?“  
The demon has the decency to go red, but still cocks an eyebrow:  
„What goes around, comes around.“ He grins like a Cheshire cat.  
Aziraphale blushes and gets into bed. „Enough now. Come here.“  
And he pats the empty place besides him.

Crowley slips under the covers and peers to his side. To his surprise, the angel has also lied down and turned to face him. Their noses almost touch.  
For a moment they just get lost in each other‘s eyes. Then Aziraphale moves in and places a short and tender kiss on the demon‘s lips that sends all of Crowley‘s nerves tingling.  
He has moved his legs unconsciously and his feet brush against the angel's, who giggles.

"Angel, how have I never noticed how ticklish you are?" He finds it quite adorable. "You've never touched me as much before." Aziraphale mumbles while blushing heavily. "That's true."

The angel takes his hand again.  
„Now go to sleep, my dear.“  
„Hmm.” He caresses Aziraphale’s hand. “What about you? Isn’t it boring to stay the whole night?“  
„No, I think I‘m just going to dose off a little. And maybe watch you in your sleep.“ He winks.  
„Well, ain‘t that uncomfortable.“ Crowley huffs, but he closes his eyes and snuggles closer, so it can‘t be that bad.  
Aziraphale turns off the lights with a snap of his fingers.  
„Good night, darling.“ - „Good night, angel.“

Crowley dreams of shooting stars and whirling galaxies. They‘re dreams full of twinkling lights and weightlessness. He wakes when a ray of sun finds it‘s way through a crack between the curtains.

The bed besides him is empty.  
„What the-?“  
He sits up. „Angel?“ He calls with uncertainty.  
_Did he leave? Has he changed his mind?_  
„Right here, my dear, I‘ve just made some tea. Do you want some?“ He can hear Aziraphale call from the other room.  
His body relaxes.  
_Stop being so insecure!_ He scolds himself. _Get it together!_  
Crowley gets out of bed and strides to the other room. The angel is standing behind the kitchen counter, a dish towel thrown over his shoulder, and pours two cups of tea from the Japanese tea pot.  
Thinly whistling some tune from Les Mis he carefully carries them to the table and motions the demon to take a seat.  
Crowley does and takes a sip.  
Aziraphale just eyes him warily over his own beverage. 

„Thanks.“ Crowley mumbles into his cup.  
He’s starting to feel a bit uncomfortable in the silence.  
„When I woke up I wondered if you‘d run off.“ He half-jokes.  
Aziraphale winces and raises the cup to his lips.  
_Did you want to run off, angel?_  
The other being gulps down a large amount of tea, and finally manages:  
„Did you sleep well?“

Crowley wonders what’s up with the angel’s stream of consciousness today.  
_Maybe he doesn’t know how to tell me it was a one-time-thing. He was very drunk. Maybe he just got carried away._  
„Umm, yeah, fantastic. Thank you.“  
Even though it’s true, he’s not able to make it sound the least bit optimistic. He notices the tension in the other‘s shoulders.  
The angel‘s knuckles have grown white from clenching his tea. His brows are furrowed. He still won’t look Crowley in the eyes. The demon can’t stand it anymore.  
„Out with it, Aziraphale. What’s gotten your knickers in a twist?“

The other being sighs.

Aziraphale has been wide awake most of the night.  
At first he had relished in new memories made, had replayed their kisses in his mind and tried to not giggle ecstatically.  
After that he had entertained himself by looking at Crowley in the twilight, carefully smoothing down some strands of his hair, tracing the curves of his snake tattoo with his eyes and counting the freckles on his cheeks.  
But the longer the hours dragged on and the more he sobered up, the more unsure he had become.

They had both been very drunk and maybe the significance of their actions had only been on his side?  
Maybe Crowley would saunter out of the bedroom later, thank him for the _delicious evening_ or something and then just get on with it?  
_But he seemed so happy and his reaction to my words… no, I’m sure it was more than that. Wasn’t it?_

For the angel it had been the most important event ever.  
_Did I make a fool of myself? I can’t imagine he would play me like that…_  
_It would be the worst.  
No. Even worse than that, maybe Crowley wakes up and freaks out?! And then he decides he doesn’t want to be friends anymore._  
He has learned to identify most anxiety attacks when he has them, but this time he hadn't been able to distance himself enough to do something about it. He had buried his face in his palms and tortured himself for the rest of the night.  
Now Crowley’s piercing gaze has him stuttering and searching for the right words.

„M-maybe I‘m just being silly, but... you haven‘t changed your mind, have you? About us? You’re not ... regretting last night?“ He grips his cup even tighter.

“Do _I_ …? What?” It sounds dumbfounded.

Aziraphale finally looks up and the anxiety and hope in his eyes make Crowley choke on his tea.  
The demon coughs. „I‘m sorry-„  
He realizes how that must’ve sound and quickly reaches over the table to take his angel‘s hand.  
„I have not.“ He says softly and puts as much honesty into the statement as possible.  
„I‘m still here, ain‘t I?“

Aziraphale releases the breath he‘d been holding. _Thank god. I can live with anything else._

„Then I‘m glad.“ He murmurs, barely hearable for human ears, but Crowley understands him just fine.  
„Me too. When I woke up, I really thought...“  
A shadow scurries over the demon's face.  
„Oh darling, I‘m sorry. When I saw you stirring, I panicked and went to make tea.“ The angel admits meekly.  
„So everything‘s fine?“  
“…Yes.”  
Crowley let’s out a laugh of relief.  
„We‘re a real mess, aren‘t we?“  
„Yes. But we are our own mess.“  
„That doesn‘t make any sense whatsoever.“  
Aziraphale flips him the finger with his free hand.  
The demon cackles loudly.  
„I‘m still discovering new sides of you every day.“ He marvels.  
„Then I hope you like them.“ The angel teases back.  
„Oh, I do, don‘t you worry.“ 

They sit in amiable silence for a while, eating croissants with blackberry jam Aziraphale has brought out.  
Now Crowley is busy licking the remains from his fingers while the angel has temporarily forgotten how to eat.  
The other being’s mouth spreads into a sly grin.  
Aziraphale snaps out of it, stuffs the last piece of pastry into his mouth and declares:  
„I think I‘ll give Warlock a call now, do you want to participate?“  
The demon‘s eyes light up and he nods.

Down at the shop Aziraphale unfolds Warlock‘s letter again and dials the number.  
Crowley scrutinizes the piece of paper, noticing something he had missed the day before.  
“Angel, isn’t that the number of the Regent’s Park reside-“

Some staff from the household picks up.  
Aziraphale motions Crowley to be quiet and listens to the staff’s call for the boy, meanwhile switching to speaker phone.  
There‘s a rustle, then Warlock‘s voice excitedly chimes through the line:  
„Brother- I mean, Mr. Fell, is that really you?!“  
„Yes, hello, Master Warlock. Mr. Crowley is with me, too.“

They can practically feel the boy's face glow on the other end.  
„Cooool. Hello Mr. Crowley!“  
„Just Crowley s‘ fine.“ - „And you can call me Aziraphale.“ The angel adds.  
„Then you have to stop calling me Master!“ Warlock states with a firm voice. „I don‘t like that at all.“  
There‘s a small pause. „Mr. Fell, how was your name again?“  
Crowley grins.  
„A-zira-phale. I know it‘s a bit tricky.“  
„Yeah… I think I‘ll just call you Zira then. - If that‘s okay with you.“ He adds hastily.  
The demon smothers a laugh.  
„ _Zira?_ " He mouths. Aziraphale jabs him in the rips.  
„That‘ll be fine, dear. How are you doing?“  
„Oh, I‘m great, I actually was just...“

The boy tells a wild story about playing soccer and something about a hedgehog.  
They can‘t follow him completely, but it‘s amusing all the same.  
Crowley remains silent through most of the conversation, but the angel can see him smile fondly at everything Warlock says.  
Only when the kid finally runs out of breath, the demon speaks up.  
„Warlock, we got your pictures. They are great, thanks a lot!”  
“Oh, you like them?” He suddenly sounds shy.  
“Yes, very much so!” Aziraphale confirms and adds: “When did you pick those flowers?”  
“Oh, now and then, over the summer… Every time I saw a pretty one I plucked and dried it, ‘till I had enough.”  
The angel beams and thanks him effusively.  
Warlock mumbles something like “It wasn’t much”, but his godfathers can sense how happy he is.  
Crowley clears his throat.  
“Say, are you back in London? I thought ya’ll went overseas after Megiddo.”

Aziraphale, who finally gets what his deal with the phone number was, covers his mouth with his hands.  
“Yeah, didn’t I write that? We’ve been back since Friday! Though I have to go to boarding school starting tomorrow, mum won’t even let me stay till weekend.”

“Oh, well guess what? We wanted to invite you and the Them for the holidays.” Crowley tries to cheer him up.  
“We could arrange a date and you could all stay at Aziraphale‘s. I‘d be there, too. If you‘re still up for it.“  
It sounds so hopeful that the angel has to restrain himself from hugging the other being.

They needn‘t have worried.  
„YES!!!“ Warlock yells full volume.  
„Muuum, Muuum, can I go visit... Nanny Ashtoreth and Brother Francis in the holidays???“  
There’s a calm female voice in the background.  
“I’ll be right back.” The boy whispers, then it goes silent on his end of the line.  
Angel and demon can hear muffled voices, as if Warlock has covered the receiver with his hand.  
Then they can hear him clear again.  
„My mum wants to speak with you.“

It‘s not that difficult for Aziraphale to convince Mrs. Dowling to send Warlock over for a few days. She‘s relieved to get the boy out of the house, especially during holidays, and remembers both former employees as polite and reliable.  
Besides her son adores them.  
They can hear Warlock cheer in the background.  
„It‘s gonna be wicked!“ He exclaims. “I can‘t wait to see you!“

“ _He already sounds like Adam._ ” Aziraphale murmurs from the corner of his mouth.  
“ _You ought to miracle the shop fireproof._ ” Crowley murmurs back.

They say their goodbyes and start calling up the Them to pass on the good news.  
Their parents are way harder to persuade, as they have never met and regard everything about that cursed and disconcerting day a few weeks before with determined animosity, including the two men who had apparently played some kind of role in it.  
Adam doesn‘t aid their case with the Young’s by interrupting the conversation with, in his opinion, helpful information, for example:  
„ _Dad_ , they are _very_ good with kids, Mr. Crowley was Warlock‘s nanny before, with proper women‘s clothing an‘everything.“  
In the end it takes a few blessings from Aziraphale that send feelings of trust and good intentions through the line to get all of their permissions.  
After that, they‘re both very exhausted.

Crowley sinks into his armchair and groans theatrically.  
„I already regret my decision. Other people suck. Where have the good ol'times gone, where I could be unsocial and disgruntled to my heart's content?“  
„You‘re _always_ some variation of unsocial and disgruntled, darling.“ The angel mocks him.  
„I‘m bloody not!“  
„Not convincing.“  
Aziraphale has just put the letter away and wants to sit down in the other chair when he feels his arms being pulled behind his back in a tight grip.  
„Take that back!“ Crowley hisses playfully next to his ear. His tongue is that of a snake again.  
Oh, but Aziraphale is feeling mutinous. He writhes his body and leans his head back on the demon’s shoulder.  
„And what if I don‘t?“  
„Then I need to try jussst how ticklish you are exsssactly.“

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Maybe you noticed that I've changed this work's summary to a paragraph from this chapter.  
> I totally suck at summaries and find this slightly less cringe-worthy than before.  
> But if anyone has another suggestion, I'm all up for it!
> 
> Have a good week! :)
> 
> P.S. Found and corrected some spelling mistakes, please tell me if you find more.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hellooo,  
> Did everyone have a nice weekend?  
> Now go and read this new chapter, it has: More snogging! More angst! A former painted jezebel and a retired Sergeant Witchfinder appear!  
> Hope you like ;)  
> Cheers,  
> Lae

“No, no Crowley, don’t, no, hahaha, I’m begging, hehe, please, no, stop it!!”

The demon has somehow managed to lock Aziraphale’s arm behind his back with one hand and tickles him merciless with the other.  
“I am _so_ gonna show you how much fun I am, angel.”

His split tongue aids him by flicking against Aziraphale’s neck and ear.  
The other squirms under his grip and tries to bend his head out of reach.  
“Hehehe, please, haha, I think I’m running out of breath, nonono!” The angel squeals.  
“You don’t need oxygen, angel, this won’t help you at all.”  
“Hahaha, no, _enough is enough!_ ”

Channelling some of his power, Aziraphale easily frees himself from the demon’s grip and turns around, his back to the shelf he got shoved against.  
Crowley is totally taken by surprise. His tongue changes back to normal.  
“Woah. One can easily forget how strong you are.”  
Aziraphale blushes as if the demon had said something indecent.  
“It took a long time to get my physical powers under control in this body… so I don’t really like to use them. I’m always afraid of overdoing things.”

“That seemed pretty damn well controlled to me.” It sounds impressed.  
Crowley’s yellow eyes narrow and he steps closer. “You could crush anyone who dares to touch you.”  
He takes another step. “Even me.”  
Their faces are just inches apart now.  
Crowley has stretched out his arms and holds on to a case board behind the angel’s head. He practically cages him.

“I would never lay hands on you.” Aziraphale mutters, occupied with the demon’s lips that are approaching him.  
“Liar.”

The angel closes his eyes and relishes in the feeling of Crowley’s mouth against his own. Their lips move agonizingly slow; the demon seems to savour every bit of it. Aziraphale pulls him closer, opening his mouth in invitation. When he can feel Crowley’s tongue against his own, his whole body shivers helplessly.  
Crowley chuckles into his mouth.  
„I never thought that one day I could make you quiver like that.“  
„Hmm, I think you‘ve got a talent for it, darling.“ Aziraphale hums. _Enough talking._

He raises his hand to pull on Crowley’s hair and smashes their lips together.  
The demon presses him harder into the shelf in an attempt to eradicate more space between them.  
Aziraphale runs his hands up and down Crowley’s spine while the other has relocated his hands to the angel’s bottom. He grips Aziraphale’s buttocks firmly and moves his lips along the angel’s jawline to end up nibbling his ear. A small moan slips from Aziraphale‘s mouth.  
Crowley’s head snaps around to look at him, his eyes glowing so hot that the angel is afraid of his legs giving in. Aziraphale can feel the blood pulsating through his body and wants to give back as much as he can.

He leans forward in slow motion, keeping their gazes locked till last moment and buries his face in the demon’s neck. He hooks his fingers through Crowley’s belt loops to pull his waist closer and carefully pushes his knee between the demon’s legs; at the same time he is working hard on putting several love bites on that beautiful pale neck of his.  
The other being pants and hisses and curses under his breath.

_This is so much better sober._  
The overwhelming passion and arousal the angel is feeling is something surprisingly new for him. He’s had sexual encounters before, to some extent, but they’d all been rather unexciting and scarce.  
He has never wanted to rile up and pleasure somebody so much and he sure as heck has never been turned on by anything like this. Oh, he could do this all day. All week.

Crowley’s head is spinning and he tries hard not to lose control. To his amazement, the angel really knows what he’s doing and the fact that he wasn’t expecting it makes it so much more delicious. It would probably be easy as pie to tempt Aziraphale up into the flat and into his bedroom… but the demon wants to cherish this.  
He has been waiting for this so long, it would be a terrible waste to hurry anything.

They get lost in their heavy snogging. The only sounds they hear are their thrumming heartbeats and the little noises that escape their mouths.  
Aziraphale has lost track of time when Crowley starts slowing their pace. Though the pool of heat in the angel’s belly protest against the subsiding of passionate touches, he keeps himself from pushing further.  
His demon ends it all with one long, closed mouthed kiss and a peck on his angel‘s nose. Their hands interlace besides them and they lean their foreheads together.

Aziraphale sighs. „That was...“  
„Brilliant.“ The demon ends the sentence.  
„Yeah. You‘re a real wonder.“ The angel’s eyes are sparkling in the morning light.  
The demon tilts his head and shies away from the compliment.  
_Don‘t look at me like that._  
As if the angel could hear his thoughts, he takes Crowley‘s face between his hands and forces him to look into his eyes.  
„Don‘t do that, darling. Don‘t you think any less of yourself. I‘d always chose you over anything else.“

Aziraphale realizes his mistake the second he ends his sentence.

Crowley flinches away from him, letting go of his hands. He feels like someone had just dumped a bucket of cold water over him, washing away the wonderful warm sensation he’d been wrapped in just seconds ago.  
There it is, the feeling of doom looming over him, as he‘s standing at the bandstand again, his stomach aching with fear, his heart broken.  
„But you wouldn‘t come with me when I asked you to.“  
Crowley hears his own voice as if it was detached from himself.  
_There is no our side!_ Echoes through his head.  
He crosses his arms in front of his body, his face like a lifeless mask.  
The angel had deserted him that day.  
_Who knows if he won’t leave you behind again?_ A cruel voice whispers in his head. 

_You totally bodged this, stupid!_  
Aziraphale has waited for this to happen. He knew Crowley wouldn’t be able to just forget the whole thing, yet he didn’t think it would come up so soon again.  
He’s been going over his apology in his head every day since Armageddon‘t.  
All the things he’d been meaning to say about it begin tumbling out of him.

„Darling, please, I’m sorry! I truly am. I never meant to leave you behind like I did. I - I was so scared that day.”  
Shame is burning in his chest.  
“Yet I thought I still had a chance to turn it around and save us _and_ the world somehow. And that it would be safest to keep our distance till everything was over. I was afraid we’d be discovered last minute and someone would just - _smite you._ ”  
His voice is trembling with the last words.  
His eyes and voice are pleading Crowley to understand.

“I went to Heaven after that and told them where Adam was and that we could still stop everything. I realized too late that they never intended to prevent Armageddon at all...“  
They are tears glistening in his eyes. He grimaces and takes a deep breath.  
„I made some excuse to come back here and immediately called to tell you to come and fight with me, but you got attacked, the call got interrupted and I got discorporated by accident.“ Aziraphale notices the goose bumps all over Crowley‘s skin. The demon keeps his defensive stance.

„You could’ve told me what you were gonna do.“  
„Yes, I know, I just panicked! I‘ll regret not telling you and- and hurting you like I did till – eternity!“  
„You left me all on my own. I really thought you‘d be gone for good. Everything in here was burning and collapsing and I kneeled over there and called for you.“ Now the demon is crying, too. And he hates it. He cannot stand to feel this exposed.

„I just gave up. I was waiting for the end when you found me at the bar.“  
„And I can’t imagine how horrible that must have been. I am so sorry, darling.“ The angel repeats in a low voice while carefully taking a few steps towards Crowley, who’s tears are falling in silence.  
He can feel his own tears rolling down his cheeks.  
The demon unfolds his arms. It looks defeated.

„Why do you keep calling me that?“  
„W-what?“  
„Darling. You‘ve only ever called me „dear“ before.“  
„I call everyone I like „dear“. After what‘s happened between us, I needed to call you something... special.“  
Crowley finally looks up, rubbing his cheeks.  
„You think I‘m special.“  
„You‘re only realizing that now?“ Aziraphale sniffles while trying to get the tears to stop.  
“That’s why I’m here. That’s why I did everything to come back to you.”

Finally Crowley sets into motion. The demon closes the remaining distance between them and caresses Aziraphale‘s cheek.  
What he can stand even less than crying, is seeing his angel like this.  
„I‘m sorry, too.“ He whispers. „I shouldn‘t have asked you to make an impossible decision.“  
Aziraphale doesn‘t hold back anymore. He sobs heartbreakingly into Crowley‘s shirt, while the other is rubbing small circles on his back and murmurs words that he hopes to be comforting.  
“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” The angel whispers repeatedly.

The demon’s tears have long run dry when Aziraphale eventually calms down.  
He let’s go of the shirt and stares at the wet stains in embarrassment.  
„Oh no, look at that! I got terribly worked up. Let me try to-“  
The angel starts dabbing the damp spots with his handkerchief.  
„Oh, err thanks.“ Crowley says a little awkwardly.  
Then, when the dabbing does not stop: “Hey, it’s okay. It’ll dry.”  
He watches the angel drop his arm and start wringing the cloth in his hands.  
It’s one of his nervous habits.

Aziraphale looks lost for words, as if he’s afraid what Crowley will say next.  
The demon sighs heavily and has mercy with him.  
„Listen angel, I am bullshit at these kinda things. I will have to…” His tongue sticks to his palate.  
_Come on, you can do it. Just say it._  
He clears his throat and starts again.  
“It‘s going to take a while for me to... process everything that happened back then. I‘m really trying. And I’m not…” He sighs.  
“You don’t have to be afraid of me disappearing, okay? But I can‘t promise it won‘t come up again. I don’t know if I can ever get rid of it.“

He’s surprised about himself.  
The usual Crowley would’ve never admitted anything of that sort without a substantial amount of alcohol. Or torture. Possibly both.  
Aziraphale has always had a huge influence on him. Every time they talk, the angel seems to draw all his feelings and secrets out of him, without even meaning to. It’s way too easy to open up to him. Most times it’s wonderful. But now it’s one of those times when it’s overwhelmingly scary.  
He needs to get out, to get some fresh air.  
_Oh, he won’t like it. No, it’ll vex him to no end._

„Don’t be upset anymore, yeah? I‘m going out for a bit now, but I‘ll be back for tea.“  
Sure enough, Aziraphale winces and looks like a kicked puppy.  
“Promise?”  
„I promise.“ He reassures the angel.  
The other being just nods and wipes his cheeks. He even manages a hint of a smile.  
“Then I’ll see you later?”  
“Of course, angel.” He squeezes Aziraphale’s hand and turns to the door.  
The angel can’t do nothing more than stand and watch him wave goodbye before he clambers into the Bentley.

Once the car is out of sight, Aziraphale suddenly feels very dizzy.  
He trudges to the bathroom and splashes his face with cold water; then he clamps down on the sink to steady himself, and stares into the mirror.  
_What have I done?_

Instead of comforting the demon in distress, he had broken down and made it all about himself again. Why does he have to act so selfish all the time?  
His guilty conscience is making it hard for him to breathe.  
Even more, he virtually admitted his feelings to Crowley. There’s no way someone could misinterpret what he had said. The words keep spiralling in his head.  
“I‘d always chose you over anything else.“  
“I needed to call you something special.”  
No, after everything that’s happened in the last two days, and what he had told him right there, the demon must have caught on to him by now.  
“That’s why I’m here. That’s why I did everything to come back to you.”

Aziraphale’s stomach is sick. He splashes his face again in an attempt to distract himself from the nausea.  
_What if he doesn’t come back? What if I have finally scared him away?_  
His heart hammers in his ribcage and pearls of sweat gather at his temples; his legs are giving in.  
He slides to the floor and starts reciting parts of his favourite Shakespeare sonnet, which helps only slightly. His own thoughts are interrupting the calming-strategy.  
_Maybe I should go after him?_

 _NO! Aziraphale, Principality of the eastern gate, you are a crybaby and a disgrace as an angel!_  
He gripes in his head.  
_Get your act together for once and be strong, for yourself and for Crowley!  
He promised to come back, so he _will_ come back! You will have to deal with your guilt and angst on your own. So get off ye ass and quit your whining. You are better than this!_

It’s no use crying over spilled milk. He will have to wait for Crowley to return on his own terms.  
If he went after him now, the demon would only feel compelled to console him again, and that would be plain unfair.  
The angel will have to sit this one out. And he loathes being passive.  
He can as well start to prepare everything for the guests.

By the time the shop bell rings, Aziraphale is just one cat’s whisker away from the next nervous breakdown.  
Crowley has not shown up and Madame Tracy and Sgt. Shadwell have arrived on his doorstep.  
He can hear the witchfinder’s nagging through the door and to his surprise, it promptly takes the load off his mind.  
“I swear to ye, I just saw a gigantic black snake crawl through that open window over there! It’s not safe, I tell ye!”  
“Oh dear, I’m sure it was just your vivid imagination.”

The angel can hear something rustle in the back of the shop. Relief washes over him.  
_There you are, darling._

“It was not! I don’t trust that southern pansy. You think you know everything about him, but he probably just deceived you and now he is trying to lure us into his hellish cave. Maybe he plans to feed us to his monstrous pet! ”  
“Tsk, Mr. Shadwell, we have been through this quite enough. You can just leave if you want to, but I am going to have some lovely tea with Mr. Aziraphale.”

The angel smiles and opens the door.  
“Madame Tracy, Sergeant Shadwell, I am so happy to have you! How are you doing?”  
“Oh, it’s such a pleasure to see you again.” Madame Tracy pipes while stepping inside.  
“My, this place is just delightful...”  
Shadwell follows while darting his eyes suspiciously into every corner, mumbling something about traps and “I have a finger.”  
Aziraphale takes their coats and starts a short tour through the shop.  
But Madam Tracy soon stops him in his chattering.

“Sorry if I am being a bit nosy, but isn’t Mr. Crowley here today?”  
She looks around as if she’s expecting him to jump from behind a shelf any time now.  
Aziraphale shakes his head  
_Though he is definitely around and listens to every word._  
“No, he’s not, I’m afraid. He had some… business to attend to.”  
Crowley clearly doesn’t want to deal with other people right now, he wouldn’t have come back in snake form otherwise. The angel won’t force him to participate.  
Madame Tracy gives him a knowing look.

“Hmm, that’s a shame. I’d love to meet him properly, I could feel how much he means to you-“  
Aziraphale’s hands jerk and he drops the book he had wanted to show her before.  
Ashamend, he bends down to pick it up.  
He looks out for a spot of black scales or any other sign that Crowley spies on them.  
He can feel the blood rushing to his head when he rises again and meets Madame Tracy’s curious gaze. She won’t let him off the hook so easily. She narrows her eyes.

“Are you having a lover’s quarrel then?”  
The angel coughs. “Are we..? No, err, well we…” he stutters.  
Madam Tracy clearly wants to launch into a number of further questions, when a loud shriek behind the rows of shelves saves him.  
“Arrrgh, don’t come near me, ye foul beast! I have a finger and I am going to use it to send you back to hell where you came from!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For more of Aziraphale getting shoved by Crowley lookie [here](https://www.instagram.com/p/B0iY6Y5lP8p/?igshid=9xoc8bao2twe) and make sure to swipe! :D I love this comic and space_sar's works in general. You should check it out<3


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey y'all,  
> first off a little disclaimer, this will probably be the only chapter for this week. I‘ve got a lot going on and I don't know when I'll be able to post again. But I'll be back not later than Monday, I promise :) As you know, I've got lots of this stuff prewritten, so don't worry about it being abandoned.  
> It‘s a rather short chapter this time, but the next ones will be longer again!
> 
> Thanks for all the kudos you keep leaving, and welcome all new readers! :) You motivate me a lot! Please comment :)  
> And now, enjoy some fluff!  
> Lae

Madame Tracy furrows her brows and sighs. “I’m sorry, dear, I think he is at it again.”  
“No, that’s quite alright.” Aziraphale mumbles while leading her in the direction the voice was coming from.  
“I think I know what got him so upset.”

They round the corner of the last shelf and Madame Tracy gasps in surprise.  
The demon has draped his reptilian body over the back and arm rests of his armchair like a garland, his head perched on a sunny spot at the coffee table, next to the orchid.  
The scales are shimmering iridescently in the rays of light, and he has opened one golden eye, which peers lazily over to a rather pale looking Sgt. Shadwell.

“I say, you really saw a _snake_ back there!”  
“As I told ye, woman! Now stand back while I free us from this dangerous creature!”  
He points his hand like a gun.  
Aziraphale steps forward, making an appeasing gesture with his hands.  
“No need to be afraid now, Sergeant Shadwell, the snake is perfectly harmless.”

_And could swallow you whole if you get too obnoxious, I’ve seen it first-hand. It took that minion from hell years to get a new body._

“It’s…” The angel glances over at the snake. “ _He_ is Mr. Crowley’s pet.”  
The animal flutters his eyelids and grins approvingly. _Oh, so I got it right._

“I don’t trust this snake! Look! He is grinning at me with that vile mouth of his!”  
Madame Tracy has recovered from her first shock and lays a hand on his outstretched arm.  
„I admit he gave me a good scare, but look, he seems perfectly peaceful. Maybe we can all -„ she pulls his arm down „-go easy now and have a nice cuppa?“  
„Yes, excellent idea!” Aziraphale agrees eagerly and (miraculously) pulls up another chair from behind his back.  
„Please get yourselves comfortable, I will be right back with drinks and biscuits!“

„There‘s no way I‘ll get comfortable next to this thing!“ Shadwell complains, voice a little shaky.  
„How was it even outside?“  
„Err...“ Aziraphale starts sweating. „He was outside? Oh my, however did that happen? I didn‘t even notice!“  
He ignores the doubtful looks his guests are throwing him. Like maybe he shouldn‘t be responsible for such a big animal after all. Madam Tracy still tries to make the best of it.  
„Ah, maybe it‘s just one of these days... at least he came back, the faithful dear!“  
Shadwell scoffs. „ _Dear_?“  
Crowley flickers his tongue in the Sergeant‘s direction.  
The witchfinder shudders.  
Aziraphale pinches the bridge of his nose.  
„I assure you, our little scaly friend will be _on his best behaviour_ while I go and fetch the tea from- my backroom. It won‘t take two minutes.“

With a stern look for his demon, he turns and marches around the corner, where the tea tray appears in his arms, all set and ready.

He comes back when Madame Tracy cautiously takes seat in the armchair next to Crowley, while Shadwell remains standing, ready for fight or flight.  
Aziraphale sets down the tray and shoos the snake away from the coffee table.  
When he sits down, Crowley places his head on the angel‘s forearm instead.  
While Aziraphale may look calm on the outside, his insides are dancing as his mood lightens tremendously.  
This can only be a good sign.  
„He seems to be quite fond of you.“ Madame Tracy assesses.  
„Yeah, we have our moments.“

Shadwell has finally decided that Madame Tracy and him are out of danger and takes a seat, too.  
Even if the big snake was hungry, their host is likely the first one to be attacked.  
Welp, he never liked the southern pansy.  
But he’s decidedly against this fawning his woman is doing now over the creature next to her, about the thing being “so majestic, and well behaved”. He could swear the animal _smiles proudly_. It is giving him the creeps.

Aziraphale and Madame Tracy talk a bit more about the bookshop‘s history and about her new full-time job as a medium.  
„After we shared my body, they all came flocking to me for séances! It was very hard with all the high expectations I got, but the late Mr. Ormerod keeps coming back to help me. I think he has immense fun with scaring the customers a bit, the little rascal. Probably never really lived to his fullest, the poor soul.“  
„Ah, but it‘s nice that you enable him to enjoy the afterlife now. I got the feeling he‘d have had a lot of potential for comedy, if his wife had let him get a word in now and then.“

The angel briefly worries how many regulations he has broken by establishing the bond between Ron Ormerod and Madame Tracy and then remembers that it doesn’t matter. At least both of them seem happy about it.

Sgt. Shadwell grumbles something about having the urgent need for a proper exorcism in his home.  
It makes Aziraphale sit up.  
„So you live together now?“  
„Yes, it‘s all very lovely.“ Madame Tracy says sweetly and blushes a bit.  
„We thought, why pay double rent, when Mr. Shadwell always comes to me for tea and dinner anyway? And I don‘t have any gentleman callers over anymore, so it‘s all working out quite nicely.“

(Incidentally, Shadwell‘s flat is undergoing a thorough gutting and redevelopment right now. The landlord had to pay the workers three times more than the usual price, and he did it without complaining. He would‘ve never set foot into this hole voluntarily and regards the thing as a crime against humanity.)

“We are looking for a nice little bungalow in the countryside, but haven’t found the right thing yet. But we have so much fun searching, haven’t we, love? We will find something eventually.”  
Sgt. Shadwell looks like this is essentially to much talk about their relationship for his taste.

„That sounds delightful!“ The angel blurts out.  
He can feel Crowley‘s body shift behind him and stares into his cup.  
„Oh, don‘t you worry Mr. Aziraphale.“  
Madame Tracy pats his arm.  
„I‘m sure he will come around. He left his beautiful pet in your care, so he can‘t be too cross with you.“  
The angel blushes and avoids looking down at the snake’s head.  
_It‘s not fair that he‘s able to listen like that._  
Now even the witchfinder chimes in:  
„True love will always find a way, as my late grandfather always said. But if she‘s got more than two nipples, build her your best stake and burn her down, so you can go and find another love.“

„How charming.“ Aziraphale mumbles.  
Madame Tracy rolls her eyes and the angel chuckles.  
„We are working on it.“ She whispers behind her hand.

The conversation changes topic after that, though Sgt. Shadwell doesn‘t contribute much, and Crowley keeps playing the mute pet.  
The couple says their goodbyes when it begins to dawn. A cold wind droves colourful leaves through the street when the angel escorts his guests outside.  
_It‘s getting chilly_ , he thinks. _Autumn is coming._

He gathers his wits and goes back to see Crowley, discovering the demon is still in his snake form.  
The angel hesitates; then he takes a seat again.  
The snake promptly sets into motion and curls himself up in Aziraphale‘s lap. Before the angel can say anything, the book he‘s been reading materializes on the coffee table, together with his favourite mug, full of steaming hot chocolate.  
A smile is spreading on his face.  
„So no more talking today?“ He asks towards his belly.  
The snake hides his head in between the curves of his body.  
„Hmm, I see. I hope you really are the demon I have spent 6000 years on earth with. For all I know you could be just some random gigantic snake, hiding in my shop from it‘s zoo keeper.“  
The scales are vibrating with the silent equivalent of a laugh.  
„Ssshut up, angel.“ Crowley hisses, barely audible.  
„Oh, quelle surprise! He can talk!“ Aziraphale exclaims in his best (worst) French accent.  
It earns him a slap on his knee with Crowley‘s tail.  
„By the way, thank you for the chocolate, dear. It‘s exactly what I wanted.“

He has raised his hand and looks at his demon questioningly. “Is it okay if I…?”  
The other being nods, so Aziraphale starts stroking gently over the black scales.  
The snakes hums in satisfaction.  
The angel decides to let the book float in front of him, so he can use his hands to sip from his drink and pet Crowley at the same time.  
Peace settles over him.

When the demon‘s breathing goes even and softly, Aziraphale whispers a blessing to protect him from nightmares.  
_I‘m relieved the day did not end as disastrous as it began._ He muses.  
_Crowley has come back and he doesn‘t hate me. I‘m sure that‘s a start._  
He‘s glad his optimism isn‘t dead yet. With the demon snuggled close to him, he feels like they can overcome anything together. He feels - whole.  
_Love. What a wonderful and terrifying thing to feel._

Sometime in the early morning, Aziraphale puts the book away and gets lost in his thoughts.  
He does this often at night, he considers it his own form of dreaming. He remembers places and events from the past, replaying his favourite scenes or interesting conversations in his mind.  
Although some of it has become a bit blurry over time, the important moments have stayed clear throughout the millennia.  
Interestingly enough, most of them involve a certain demon.

Just now, he sees Crowley in a loincloth, wearing thick golden bracelets and golden circlet on his long red hair. They had met at the banks of river Nile and had had a very heated discussion about the ten plagues that were to come.  
The demon had made a point about that being only a minor improvement in comparison to the great flood.  
Aziraphale had defended the plan, as it would free God‘s people from the Pharao‘s slavery.  
He had been so sure of Heaven‘s intentions back then.

The angel can feel a change outside his head and focuses back on reality.  
Then he gets what made the change.

Instead of a round heap of snake, there is a lap full of gangly demon smiling at him. Crowley’s legs dangle off one armrest, while his elbows are propped up on the other one. Aziraphale‘s arms have ended up under Crowley‘s knees and back respectively.

„There you are. I have been nudging you for ages. How far gone were you?“  
The angel needs a moment to get his thoughts in order.  
„Oh, ancient times.“ He murmurs. He glances at golden glittering eyes in the light of a new morning.  
„You wore more eyeliner back then.“  
The demon blinks.  
„Egypt? Or the Ottomans?“  
„Egypt.“  
„Heh. Yeah. I looked fabulous.“ He sweeps back a few strands of hair, though it’s not as impressive as it was when he’d still had long locks.

Aziraphale nods, but doesn‘t say anything.  
He is not sure if compliments are in demand now, and it‘s the first thing to come to his mind:  
_You always look fabulous, darling._  
But after yesterday, would that still be appropriate? 

Only Aziraphale can pose a question like this while the subject of his compliment has perched himself in his lap.

„Come on, angel, I can practically see the gears clicking in your head. What are you pondering?“  
_Don‘t make it about yourself. Let him come to you when he‘s ready._  
„Oh, just everything and nothing, da- dear.”  
Crowley furrows his eyebrows.  
„Hm, okay. How about breakfast then?“  
„Yes, excellent!“

The angel, still very preoccupied, shoots up excitedly and forgets both his strength and to put the demon down first, so he ends up carrying him bridal style.  
Crowley has let out a little surprised shout and thrown his arms around Aziraphale‘s neck for balance. They both blush furiously. They look at each other.  
Aziraphale thinks how easy it would be to lean in and steal a kiss...

„Err, that‘s jolly nice of you angel, but I think I can walk there myself.“ The demon remarks.  
Aziraphale’s ears turn an even deeper shade of red.  
„Oh, excuse me, that- that wasn‘t my intention! How embarrassing-„  
He puts Crowley down „- I am sorry my dear, I wasn‘t thinking.“  
He doesn‘t know where to look.  
The demon rises to full height and smooths his shirt.  
„You often get like that when breakfast is mentioned.“ He teases with a smirk.

„You always let me appear so greedy.“ It sounds just a tiny bit disgruntled.

„Ah, angel, you know I didn’t mean it like that.“ The demon runs his hand over Aziraphale‘s arm.  
„I like the way you appreciate good food. It makes you shine.“  
His voice is very tender. It makes the angel‘s heart jump.  
„A-aren‘t you the same? You love a good meal just like me, don‘t you?“  
Crowley snorts.  
„It’s absolutely nooot the same. I appreciate it, yes, but I get the feeling you could actually starve if you don‘t have at least three no less than exquisite meals a week.“  
“You know full well that I am not able to die of malnutrition.”  
Crowley cocks an eyebrow. The angel grins.

“Yes, fine, I would probably discorporate out of bad mood alone.”  
The demon’s laugh sounds heartfelt and bright.  
It makes Aziraphale swoon. He takes a deep breath.  
_Get it together._  
“How about the little French place for breakfast?”  
“Yeah, haven’t been there in a while. You wanna go right now? We can take the Bentley.”  
“Why not? Just let me put a few things away.” He bustles off, tidies up a bit and returns soon with coat and scarf in hand.  
Crowley opens the door for him. “Shall we?”  
Aziraphale regards him with a smile. “Thank you, my dear.”  
The angel gets into the car, while the demon fumbles his sunglasses out of his pocket.  
He clambers into the driver’s seat and wants to start the engine. But he hesitates.

“Hey, angel?” He pushes the sunglasses in his face.  
“Yes?”  
“Just… if you still want to – I would really like you to keep calling me, you know… _the other thing_.”  
Aziraphale looks confused for a few seconds. Then it clicks. But… he wants to savour the moment.  
“Whatever do you mean, _my dear_?”  
“Ngk.” Crowley rubs his chin and grimaces. “You’re being unfair.”  
The angel knocks their shoulders together.  
“Come on. Just spit it out. For me?”  
The demon glances at the other’s encouraging expression and sighs.  
“I would prefer… err, I would really like it if you’d called me… _d-darling_.” He manages in a small voice, blushing immensely.  
Aziraphale beams so hard at him that thousands of butterflies start dancing in his stomach.  
“Of course! I’d love to! Darling.”

 _Please don’t stop calling me like that ever again._  
Crowley acts fast and pecks a kiss on the angel’s cheek.  
Without looking back at the other, he revs the engine and drives off with incredible speed.  
For once, Aziraphale does not complain about velocity or violation of traffic code.  
He doesn’t even hang onto the handle.  
He just sits there, smiling contently, looking at his demon from the corner of his eye.  
And Crowley stares onto the street and grins like a Cheshire cat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So another little shout out to two of my favorite GO-fanartist:  
> The scene in Egypt is of course a small tribute to the fabulous The Omens Of Egypt [comic](https://www.instagram.com/p/B8WooIVFqSR/?igshid=11eqv8xzc8ytl) by Whiteley Foster.  
> And the bridal style scene sparked from [this](https://www.instagram.com/p/B66DniUFxi_/?igshid=1kmon08nrtjnp) adorable comic of maxineincredible.  
> You should check out their other fanart, too!
> 
> P.S.: I‘ve got a ~~completely unused~~ twitter, by the by, and apparently I‘m with Alec Hardy on the whole thing :D Plus I can‘t find the patience to figure out how to use it properly. But if you wanna chat, you can find me as Phalaenopsiis13 (yes, two „i“ :D).


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I made it!!! :))  
> Hope you had a nice weekend and wherever you are, stay healthy!  
> Cheers,  
> Lae

It’s a golden autumn.  
They spend their days with walks in the park, where Aziraphale feeds the ducks and they talk at their favourite bench; they have more breakfasts at the French place, where they sit out front at the sidewalk and observe the passer-by’s; there a many lazy evenings when angel and demon huddle together in one armchair (sometimes with Crowley in snake-form, sometimes not), drinking wine or hot chocolate; and they go hunting for old tomes to add to Aziraphale’s collection and find the one or other new plant for Crowley’s flat.

(The demon wonders why, exactly. It’s not like he’s at the flat more than twice a week to check on his plants. He can‘t believe they‘d miss him terribly, but their rustling grows louder, every time he leaves.  
So maybe they _are_ miffed about him going away? But he brings them new companions from time to time to make up for it, so… _argh_. He has to stop acting like these plants are his pets or something.  
_Bloody heavens._ )

There have been no more big confessions or talk about difficult topics. They are in a kind of stand still.  
Both of them know that they are just repressing and postponing, but right now they are content with their new status quo. After 6000 years of knowing each other, they want to take their time exploring and enjoying this new found tenderness between them.  
They finally feel like they really might have all the time in the world.

Aziraphale keeps finding himself in bed next to Crowley, cuddling and holding hands and preventing any bad dreams that dare to approach him. But there hasn’t been any more serious snogging.  
Just a few soft kisses here and there, some more hugging and holding hands… And the angel doesn’t know how to feel about that.  
The word “disappointed” keeps flashing up in his mind and he has to mentally shoo it away.  
As well as more drastic words to describe his rather... earthly feelings. He definetly won‘t put a name on _them_.  
_We are going slow and slow is good. Slow is steady and doesn’t hurt anyone. We will come to that point again if we are ready._

Without having to worry about Hell’s judgement, Crowley has allowed himself to further restore his bond with Warlock.  
Aziraphale has caught him joking around with the boy via phone more than once.  
Warlock seems happy to have an adult in his life again, who’s interested in him beyond piano recitals, school marks, and his behaviour at official appointments.

Crowley doesn’t reveal much about himself, but he listens to the child’s stories and complaints and is always keen on helping him sort things out.  
It’s Aziraphale’s private joy to spy a little on these conversations, though he suspects the demon can sense him listening in. But Crowley never complains and it warms the angel’s heart to see his demon smile and worry and giggle with the kid.  
It has an innocence to it that Crowley wouldn’t be caught dead showing otherwise, and Aziraphale is allowed to observe - as long as they both pretend it never happened.  
It’s another sign of how much the demon trusts him and that he’s actually letting him in.

One day after the last of those phone calls, in which Warlock has moaned bitterly about the fact how much time is _still left_ until the Winter holidays, the demon sips his morning tea with an exceptionally smug grin on his face.  
Aziraphale cannot help but notice.

“My, someone seems to be chipper today.” He comments over the margin of his newspaper. He knows this grin full well.  
_I wonder what he has done now._  
Crowley just grins wider and the old kitchen radio switches on without being touched.

“~…the government has declared a special extra school holiday for this year, to take place from Monday, October 26th to Friday, October 30th. According to officials from the Department of Education, this addition to usual holidays is meant to make up for the events that took place during summer break, which are still under investigation by…~”

The radio switches off.  
The demon looks very proud of himself. Aziraphale raises his eyebrows.  
“I suppose that was your doing then, darling? - Ah, so _that’s_ what you’ve been up to yesterday evening.” He chuckles. “Another demonic miracle?”  
“Naaah, nothing as big as that. I merely pushed certain people in the right direction. Tempted some, discouraged some others. You know, the usual.”

He tries to convince himself how stressed out everyone will be about it, because there’s not enough time to plan a proper vacation and all the bosses will be very angry with their employees trying to make time for their children that week.  
It’s more likely that everyone will be thrilled about it, but old habits die hard.

“And I further suppose you want to bring forward the children’s visit to these new holidays?”  
The angel’s eyes are twinkling.  
Crowley points at his mobile phone.  
“Already on it. I texted Mrs. Dowling and got confirmation from her just now, and Adam is going to settle everything with the Tadfield parents.”  
He rubs his hands in anticipation.

“You miiight want to check in with them later though, darling. Remember our last call with Adam’s parents?” Aziraphale remarks, scrunching his face and grinning awkwardly.  
The demon tsks. “Yeah, that’d be for the best, probably.”

He‘s feeling a bit uneasy now.  
The angel reaches out for his hand and caresses it reassuringly.  
“It will be fine! I can help if you want to. And we will have the most wonderful time together. It’s only a few weeks from now, so we ought to be planning!”  
He pats Crowley’s hand.  
The demon’s expression clears up and he stands.  
“Yeah, we should. Oh, it is gonna be epic! And they are here on Halloween, how great is that?”

He doesn’t try to hide his glee and starts pacing around the room.  
„We can disguise ourselves and play pranks and scare the neighbours!”  
Aziraphale does a little frown.

“Yes, well, just... please don’t overdo it?” He folds his newspaper and rolls it into a tube.  
“I mean, there should be certain boundaries…” His words stumble over Crowley’s best googly eyes. He points the newspaper at him. “ _Boundaries_ , darling, as to how far you should go with pranks.”

“Oh, don’t fuss angel, a little fun won’t hurt anyone!”  
The angel can picture all too well what Crowley deems “a little fun” regarding things like that.  
Though the demon wouldn’t do anything that would put the kids in danger…  
_No. Not in danger. But in trouble? Most likely.  
Welp, I’ll just have to step in if things are starting to get out of hand._

“As long as you promise to keep it down, I will help as much as I can.” He promises.  
Crowley kisses him on the cheek. “That’d be brilliant! I know you love holidays, angel. You could decorate.”

Oh yes. He is most enthusiastic about that. He just adores all kinds of festivities. And he definitely knows some neighbours who would deserve a little harmless prank. Or two. He is getting into the spirit now.

“Yes, I will do that. We can hang some cobwebs and bats, carve pumpkins and put up a skeleton over there… And we could bake pumpkin pie, I mean, the children can, probably. I can’t be that hard, can it?”  
The demon remembers Aziraphale’s last cooking attempt, about a thousand years ago, and cringes internally.  
Yes, he really shouldn’t be in charge of that. But that can be discussed another time.  
“Good! Very good! And I will get some spooky costumes and make up. This fake blood they have these days looks like the real thing, I tell ya…”

Two weeks later, on Monday morning, angel and demon are standing on a platform at King’s Cross and are waiting for the children’s train to come to a hold. Warlock has been in Tadfield over the weekend and been introduced to the rest of the Them. (“Initiated into their little gang.” Aziraphale comments, not without worry. Crowley is delighted, of course.) Now they are all coming back to London together.

Strictly speaking, Aziraphale is the one who _stands_.  
Crowley has been awake for 2 days straight and behaves much like a five-year-old on an overdose of toffee. He bounces excitedly from one foot to the other and cranes his neck, not noticing the slightly irritated glances the angel darts his way.  
“Are we sure this is the right train? I can’t see them anywhere!”

Aziraphale counts to 5 inside his head. He speaks very calmly: “Yes, we have checked several times. You’ll have to wait a moment, the doors have opened just a few seconds ago.”  
Crowley is standing on tiptoes now, searching the emerging passengers for familiar faces.

He is so fucking nervous. Will Warlock even recognize him like this? Maybe he will be disappointed? What if he decides he doesn’t like him in person?  
“Come on, where are you?” He mumbles.

The angel suddenly exhales very loudly and says: “Look, there they are!”

He points down the platform and sure enough, Crowley spots them, too.  
Five little heads are bopping through the crowd; all of the kids are carrying backpacks and are laughing and talking amongst themselves.  
Adam and Warlock walk up front, leading the group.

The demon has just raised his hand to wave at them, when Warlock looks up and right into his bespectacled face.  
The boy hesitates, is unsure for a fracture of a second, then a wide smile spreads on his face and he starts running, while the Them are shouting after him.  
He ignores them, eyes fixed on Crowley, dodging passengers and luggage, his dark hair fluttering around his head.

The demon hasn’t even dreamed of a reaction like this and feels completely overwhelmed.  
Who knows how the scene would‘ve played out without Aziraphale, who pushes Crowley with a „Oops, how clumsy of me!“ exactly at the right moment.  
The demon tumbles forward and instinctively spreads his arms, catching the boy from his sprint and lifts him up in a tight hug.

And what if he even spins around one or two times?  
His heart seems ready to burst and all this energy has to go somewhere.

Behind them, Aziraphale has to wipe away some sneaky tears.  
“Oof, you’ve become heavy!” Crowley exclaims while setting Warlock down and tousling his hair.  
The boy grins at him. “And I’m bigger, too!”  
“Yes, indeed!”  
He eyes Warlock up and down, as if he wants to memorize all the new details.

Less tooth gaps, slightly shorter hair, some new freckles, and a small scar on his chin that surely springs from some football game collision.  
“I am surprised you recognized me this fast.” He tells him, voice croaking because he wants to sound cooler than he is.  
“You don’t look all that different! You got the same hair colour, the same sunglasses and you got your snake tattoo!”  
Crowley glows. That’s the only way to describe it, really. He can feel his chest swell with something like pride and there’s a big lump in his throat.

Aziraphale gives him some time to recover by taking over and greeting Warlock, too. While the boy seems a little embarrassed to have ignored him until now, the angel doesn’t mind playing second fiddle here one bit.

The Them have finally caught up and a big commotion ensues, while they all try to shout their greetings yet a bit louder as the others.  
After making sure they’ve all gathered their things, angel and demon lead their flock of children to the Bentley, where all of them mysteriously fit on the backseat without problem.  
For once, Crowley does not drive like a bat out of hell, but keeps moderate velocity and obeys traffic rules.

In comparison to his normal racing, it seems to take an eternity, but there’s no way Aziraphale will point that out to him.

From the merry chattering behind them, they gather that Warlock has been announced an official member of the Them on the train ride. Then Brian burps very loudly and the backseat descends into chaos. Crowley takes the opportunity to speak with Aziraphale in private.

“Hey, angel?” He whispers.  
He keeps his voice low enough human ears can’t hear him.  
“Yes?”  
The demon’s lips curl into a nervous smile.  
“He really seems to like me.”  
Aziraphale startles and then touches his shoulder. “Oh darling, of course he does!”  
“I guess I worried a bit.”  
The angel huffs, but his voice stays tender when he whispers back: “Sweetheart, did you really think he’d want to talk to someone he can’t stand every week? _He_ called _you_ , most of the time.”  
Crowley has started to blush from the beginning of the sentence.

“That one’s new.”  
“Hm? Oohh… Sweetheart?”  
“Ngk!”  
Aziraphale grins mischievously. “I see you rather like it.”

“Hey, Mr. C?” Pepper calls from behind the demon, trying to drown out the other voices.  
Crowley looks back through the rear-vision mirror. _When did I get that nickname?_  
“Adam says, your car is from 1926. That’s reeeal old!”  
The boys go quiet. Cars are a good topic.  
“Yep, that’s right!”  
There’s a collective impressed murmur from the back.  
“But tell you what, Aziraphale’s bookshop is even older!”  
“Wicked!” Adam and Warlock exclaim in unison.  
“I bet there are tons of interesting books to read!” Adam continues, eyes glittering with excitement.  
“Do you have like, secret scripts and treasure maps?” Brian inquires.  
The angel’s expression has become slightly uneasy.

“Well, I can show you some really interesting things, as long as you promise to be careful around them. Some of those books are ancient, and very rare and delicate.”  
“Actually, I’ve seen on telly that you can only touch rare books with white gloves on.” Wensleydale chimes in.  
“But you’ve got proper books, too, right?” Pepper asks, frowning. “Like, adventure stories, or books about spaceships, and about magic?”  
“I like comics!” Brian pipes up again. “The detective ones are my favourite!”

The angel actually has a board of children’s books in the shop that has been extended and stocked up a lot since they’ve started to plan this week.

“Oh, I’m sure we will find something for all of you.”  
Aziraphale is smiling brightly now, getting wrapped up in his favourite topic.  
“Just last week, I have found this intriguing series about a boy who discovers an underground city of fairies…”  
They happily launch into a discussion about classic and current children’s literature, while Crowley continues to worm his way through London‘s traffic. He observes the others quietly, his gaze flickering to the mirror and to the angel by his side.

_I want him to look like this all the time._ Flashes through his mind. _Shiny eyes and carefree smile._  
It’s probably the aftereffects from Warlock’s heart-warming welcome earlier, or maybe also of Aziraphale calling him – he swallows – Sweetheart, but… today he feels like everything is going to be alright.

The afternoon is mostly spent inside the bookshop.  
Crowley starts his first-time-in-all-of-history-attempt at making sandwiches, and they don’t turn out half bad. At least the children have a go at them as if they‘ve been starving for days.  
His angel takes a cautious bite, and looks quite surprised. He doesn‘t take a second sandwich, but finishes the first one without looking openly disgusted. Crowley counts it as a win.

Aziraphale shows the Them fascinating old scrolls with riddles and funny parts from his bible collection.  
The other being stays in the background, watching them and trying to keep his overflowing heart at bay. Sometimes he joins the conversation, but he mostly observes.  
That‘s how he notices how Adam gets a little pale around the nose when he happens to come near the two additional book shelves - and how the kid steers clear of them after that. _Interesting._ He makes a mental note about it.

In the evening they prepare the living room for the sleep-over, before going out to eat burgers and chips to celebrate their get-together (though Aziraphale insists to take them to a proper restaurant, not one of those chains where everything tastes like Chow™).  
In hindsight, it had been a mistake to let them have several big glasses of lemonade, because it takes ages till they finally get tired and start to get ready for bed.

Aziraphale makes sure they all brush their teeth properly and helps Pepper braid her hair so it won’t stand in all directions next morning, while Crowley distributes small flash lights, so everyone can get to the loo at night without tripping over anything (or anyone, for that matter).  
At last, every kid is tucked away in a sleeping bag.  
Brian and Wensleydale share a double airbed in front of the kitchen counter, Adam has made camp on the sofa, Pepper’s got an airbed between the coffee table and an armchair, and Warlock’s lies behind the living room ensemble, near the bedroom door.

Aziraphale closes the curtains and makes a beeline back to Crowley, who is already waiting in the doorframe.  
“Oookay. Everyone comfortable? Everything good?” The angel asks in a very motherly way.  
The Them nod and/or mumble their approval.  
“Then I wish you good night, my dear children, and dream well!”  
“Yeah, good night everyone!” Crowley adds.  
“Good night, Mr. Zira good night, Mr. C!” Goes the small chorus.  
Warlock waves at them from his mattress and Crowley raises his hand and winks at him.  
Aziraphale switches off the lights and closes the door.

“That has been an exciting day!” The angel proclaims while changing clothes the miraculous way.  
“Oh, I am already attached to them. It’s so lovely to have them here, it has been the best decision to invite them!” He coos on while getting into bed.

Crowley, who has made a habit of wearing simple grey pyjamas with long pants and short sleeves, joins him shortly after.  
He doesn’t lie down, but perches cross-legged on top of the covers, facing the angel.  
Aziraphale’s cheeks are flush with joy and his eyes are sparkling like the sea.  
_He is fucking beautiful._

“Aren’t you glad we’ve got them over, darling?”  
He hasn’t noticed the hungry look in Crowley’s eyes.  
“Yes. But that’s not the only thing I am glad about.”  
And because he can’t help himself, and he wants to share his happiness, the demon leans forward and takes the angel’s chin between his fingers.

Aziraphale’s pupils blow up and his gaze darts down to Crowley’s lips.  
“It’s been wonderful today, angel.” The demon mumbles. “But I would really like to kiss you now.”  
The other being exhales gently. “Please do.”

Crowley can feel the angel tugging at his shirt and loses himself in the kiss.  
How he has survived the last weeks without a proper snog like this, he can’t understand.  
He knows, they’ve stopped it because last time, it has brought up big important feelings and most difficult topics, but it’s just so bloody addictive.

The demon has not commented on Aziraphale’s words back then, although he figures what the angel has tried to tell him in a roundabout way.  
He doesn’t dare to make sure he’s got it right. It would be too good to be true.

Somehow he has restricted himself to waiting for the other to make the next step concerning this conversation.  
Because he is a fucking coward. Because it would hurt too much if he got it wrong after all.  
It had been hard to hold back. He’d been quite horny, albeit too insecure to initiate something without having talked it all out.

But right now, he doesn’t need any words, he just wants to _feel._

Aziraphale is starting to let himself fall backwards and pulls Crowley with him.  
The latter ends up half on top and nearly combusts from all the wonderful body contact that is going on through the thin fabric of their clothes.  
The two snogs before have been brilliant, but have been nothing like this.

Their legs have tangled and the angel has one hand in his hair, while his own hand has found it’s way under Aziraphale’s shirt and is caressing the smooth skin beneath. He can feel goose bumps breaking out everywhere he touches.  
The angel retaliates by burying his face in the other’s neck and Crowley can feel him nibbling and licking the sensitive skin there. It sends his head spinning and his torso tilts forward; he’s glad his moan is muffled by the pillow.

They press their bodies together in the most delicious angles and their mouths find each other again.  
Crowley’s hand slips to Aziraphale’s back and under the hem of the angel’s pants; he spreads his fingers and pushes firmly against the other’s tailbone.  
The angel moans into his mouth. The demon’s blood is rushing entirely elsewhere now.  
A low, almost feral growl forms in the back of his throat.  
Aziraphale leans back a fraction, panting heavily. He is sounding a tad bit hysterical.  
“ _Darling..._ We can’t. I mean we should stop… _There’re kids in the next room..._ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, I promise this was the last time things get interrupted ;)  
> And because the fic is developing like it is/ with a look on further chapters, I have decided to add the explicit tag, even if it‘s a bit of a spoiler. ;)  
>    
> The book series Aziraphale is talking about in the Bentley is of course Artemis Fowl by Eoin Colfer.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello my dears,  
> I hope you are healthy and safe in all the craziness out there.
> 
> Have some fluff! :)  
> Cheers,  
> Lae

“ _Ohshitohshitohshit._ ” What a great godfather he is. Crowley has forgotten about them entirely.  
_Well, it’s not like I’m the only one at fault here._

They are staring into each other’s eyes, torn apart between reason and want.  
Aziraphale sighs disappointedly.  
The demon lets out a raspy laugh.  
“Angel… You make me feel all kinds of ways.”  
He extracts his hand from under Aziraphale’s clothes and places it on the angel’s cheek.  
The other being slings his arms around Crowley’s neck and smiles, a bit embarrassed about the state he’s in.  
“Do I now? Tell me about it.” He manages with a smirk. “Ngk.”

A light chuckle. “Then let me tell you what you make me feel instead.”  
The demon’s eyes widen.  
The angel places a kiss on his lips.

“You make me happy.” Another kiss. “And you make me feel wanted.”  
Crowley averts his eyes and just listens.  
He can’t bear the look Aziraphale is giving him; he’s afraid of saying or doing something dumb to break the spell.  
The angel kisses him on the forehead this time, while stroking his hair.

“You make me feel like I can do anything.” Another kiss. “And you feel like home.”  
The demon snuggles closer and buries his face somewhere below the angel’s chin, so the other can’t see the traitorous moist shimmer in his eyes.  
_I fucking love you - love you – love you – love you!_  
The thought is spinning in his head like a ferries wheel.  
But he doesn’t utter a word. He just clings to Aziraphale until his racing heart calms down and he dozes off eventually.

Sometime during the night they have shifted positions.  
Aziraphale has sat back up and listens to the street coming alive around the shop. Crowley’s head is in his lap and the demon has thrown one arm over the angel’s legs.  
Aziraphale has detected some faint whispers in the next room, so at least two of the children are awake already. His guess is Brian and Wensleydale.  
The angel looks down at Crowley and lightly caresses the red hair on the nape of his neck.  
He tries not to think about last evening too much, because it makes him all jittery and he doesn’t want to wake the demon by fidgeting around.

Crowley hasn’t _said_ anything special, but Aziraphale could feel the love pouring out of him with every touch and every kiss.  
He’s unsure whether this hadn’t been there the last time, or if he had simply been too preoccupied to notice, or if there had been too many other emotions at play for it to shine through as clearly.  
But yesterday, it had been extraordinary.

The angel doesn’t care that the other being has not verbally reacted to his words; he didn’t need to.  
Maybe Crowley will take a lot of time to admit his feeling out loud, but Aziraphale can wait.  
He ponders if it had been better to confess his love directly already, though he’d rather want it to be on a special occasion, all romantic by candlelight and wine.

The demon is stirring now; he’s peeling his eyes open and yawns.  
He turns his head and blinks into Aziraphale’s face, while his mouth spreads into a smile.  
“Mornin’, angel.”  
“Good morning, sweetheart. Did you sleep well?”

Crowley starts to shrug off the covers and raises his body so he can look at Aziraphale face to face.  
“Like a kitten.”  
His grin is getting all suggestive and he moves forward, starting to nibble on the angel’s ear. His hands have started to wander.  
Aziraphale barely manages to push them away and makes an exasperated sound, though his face is already flush and he’s got goose bumps all over.  
“ _Crowley_ , you wily old serpent! Stop it now, we are not the only ones awake!”  
“Hmmhm, no fun.” The demon mumbles somewhere at his neck.  
The angel giggles.  
“We will have time for that, darling.”

Crowley‘s insides do a little somersault at these words. Oh, he’d love to discuss what kind of _that_ Aziraphale is talking about…  
He decides to go with pouting instead.

The demon flops back on the mattress and groans.  
“But wheeen?”  
“Now stop acting like that, I’ve already got five children next door.” Aziraphale says, laughing and changing into his usual ensemble.  
“Up, up! We’re going to make breakfast now!”  
Crowley grumbles something unintelligible while getting out of bed and changing clothes.  
The angel pecks a kiss on his cheek before carefully opening the door and peering into the living room. Behind him, the demon pushes sunglasses in his face.

“Good morning, my dears!” Aziraphale calls softly. “Everybody up yet?”  
“Mornin’ Mr. Zira!” Brian, Wensleydale and Pepper chime from the boys’ airbed behind the kitchen counter.  
They seem to have been up for a while now.  
Adam yawns and stretches his arms on the sofa.  
The only things they can see of Warlock are some dark curls peeking out from inside the sleeping bag. The boy starts shifting and mumbling.

Aziraphale makes his way to the window and Crowley crouches down in front of Warlock’s airbed, nudging the kid and mock-calling: “Hey Warlock, wakey wakey!”  
The boy’s face emerges all crinkly; his eyelids are still shut.  
“Nooo… I don’t wanna get up yet. Leave me alone, nanny!”  
The demon almost loses balance and Warlock’s eyes shoot open in shock, his face blushing with embarrassment.  
“I- I mean! _What?_ Why are ya’ll up so _early_?” The kid stutters.  
The other children have mercifully ignored his slip up, but Aziraphale leans back to glance at his demon, who has the most astounded look on his face.

Crowley slowly recovers and pokes the boy through the sleeping back.  
“It’s not that early, you just seem to be the same late riser as back then, eh?”  
At the same time, the angel has reached the curtains.  
Light pours into the room and the boy squeezes his eyes and pulls a face, while simultaneously trying to dodge Crowley’s finger.  
“No fair!”

The demon chuckles, rises and looks around the room.  
“Okay, who wants pancakes for breakfast?”  
Pepper, Wensleydale and Brian cheer, though the latter is decidedly the loudest of the trio.  
Adam sits up and swings his feet to the carpet. “What did you say about pancakes?”

Crowley commences to pull the ingredients out of the fridge and the cabinets and the angel ushers the Them to tidy up the flat.  
“Everyone please take your pillows and sleeping bags to our room. Just throw them on the bed. I will take the airbeds and put them back there, too, so we have some space in here again.”

While the children bustle around, Aziraphale sneaks up to the demon and murmurs from the corner of his mouth:  
“Sweetheart, are you sure about the pancakes? We could just… _whip them up_. You know?”  
“Ach angel, have some faith!” Crowley answers with a wink.  
“I have managed sandwiches yesterday. I’ve got this, you just watch!”

He has searched the bookshop for a cook book a few days before, because he was dead set on trying to make meals for the children, and now starts to read the recipe very closely.  
Aziraphale throws him a doubtful look, mumbling something about guinea pigs, and goes to help the kids with their airbeds.  
Crowley sticks out his tongue at the angel’s back.  
(His first urge was making a rude gesture, but he stops himself for the children.)

The demon has suspected for a while now, that he could actually like the act of making food.  
He is not a big eater, but he likes to create things with his hands.  
Maybe - and that’s a big hypothetical maybe – it could also have to something to do with Aziraphale’s love for food. Maybe. Probably.  
Of course sandwiches and pancakes are only a beginning, but he whistles and hums to the radio while mixing the ingredients, pouring milk and adding some cinnamon, fully immersed in his work.  
His hands seem to move intuitively. Cooking really doesn’t seem that difficult.  
After adding the whipped egg-whites, the dough doesn’t look half bad.  
He holds out the bowl so Warlock can stick a finger in and taste it, and the boy nods approvingly.

The first two pancakes burn and he has to throw them into the bin, but after that Crowley gets the hang of it.  
The children are taking turns in the bathroom and get dressed under the angel’s eyes, whilst the stack of pancakes next to the stove grows higher and higher.  
(Crowley makes sure they stay perfectly fresh and hot even on the plate).  
A delicious smell wafts around the room and soon everyone leans around the kitchen counter and watches Crowley bake, while his hips are swinging from side to side to the music.  
Oblivious to his audience, he even starts to shake his spatula to the rhythm.  
It earns him some giggles from behind and he spins around, startled by all the eyes on him.  
His cheeks are getting red and he freezes, spatula high in the air.

“Oh, err, you lot ready yet?”  
The Them nod enthusiastically and Aziraphale beams at him.  
“That smells scrumptious, darling! Should I start setting the table?”  
“Err, yes… you kids be good and help him, will ya? I’ll be right there.”  
He turns back to the stove and bows his head low, pretending that he didn’t get caught doing a _bloody kitchen-dance_ just now.

When he finishes the last batch and turns around, the children are all gathered at the table.  
Brian even sits with fork and knife in his hands, looking as if he‘s determined to eat everything that will be set before him.

Crowley balances the tower of pancakes over and is greeted by frenetic applause, then discovers that they’ve forgotten to miracle a spare chair.  
He ends up eating leaned to the kitchen counter and enjoys the appreciating noises coming from the group. Aziraphale darts looks at him and smiles round cheeked every time their eyes meet.

Crowley had to stop him from getting up and offering his seat; he doesn‘t mind not sitting, while the angel would be more than a little uncomfortable. They’d tried it before, many centuries ago.  
_“It’s just not civilized, Crowley, standing around and eating, like some… some slob!”_  
The exception seemed to be horsd'œuvre. And emergency-crepes.

The demon takes another bite and feels a tad bit proud. He should cook more often if it makes others as happy as this.  
They look like a family of little hamsters, stuffing their mouths with breakfast - and Aziraphale doesn’t stop gushing about how tasty the pancakes are.  
The children throw conspiratorial looks at each other and giggle into their food.  
They’re finding the grown-ups to be quite amusing.

After cleaning up, they go on a tour through London. They visit all the touristic spots; Big Ben and Downing Street, London Eye and Buckingham Palace.  
Aziraphale and Crowley tell endless historic anecdotes and the children are duly impressed about their enormous knowledge; Warlock points out spots he already knows but mostly stares admiring at his godfathers. The kids get really tired sometime in the afternoon though, and so they start to make their way home.  
When they’ve returned to the bookshop, Crowley cooks up spaghetti with green pesto; and his angel, who is technically used to a much more refined cuisine, looks at him as if he‘d hung the moon.

(Crowley doesn‘t understand the fuss - it‘s just cooking noodles and mixing some ingredients in the blender and then adjusting the taste with some spices.)

When they‘re alone in bed, Aziraphale smother‘s the demon in kisses, who doesn‘t know what hit him but drinks in all of it readily.  
They spend the night cuddled in each other’s arms.  
The angel even thinks he nodded off a few minutes sometime around four o‘clock.

Wednesday is spent at Madame Tussaud’s and with angel and demon showing their guests their personal favourite spots of the city.  
Aziraphale notices some tourists with polaroid cameras and recognizes the technology - it‘s old-school enough for him to like it and he purchases one in the next available store. After that there‘s no stopping him.  
Crowley cringes every time he hears the shutter, but gets used to it after the upteenth picture.  
And those photos are really great - the children posing with various wax figures; all of them eating ice cream in St James park in spite of the chilly weather; Wensleydale and Pepper feeding the ducks, Crowley smiling in a deep conversation with Warlock - the list goes on and on.

Adam snatches the camera and takes pictures with Aziraphale in them, too.  
In one of them angel and demon walk alongside each other, cheeks flushed from a fierce wind, grinning over something Warlock has told them and glancing at each other.  
It makes Aziraphale’s heart beat faster and he falls behind to tuck it away separately, into the inside pocket of his coat. He can feel it there like a good luck charm.

Pepper watches him with interest.  
“How long have Mr. C and you been a couple?” She asks.  
The angel hadn’t seen her there and jumps in surprise.  
“A couple? I really don’t know if I would call us… that.”  
“Why not? You sleep in the same room and you, like, _stare_ at each other all the time.”  
She lets her lashes flutter meaningfully.  
“And you call him _darling_. It’s everything my cousin and her boyfriend do. Well, she calls him bae.”  
Now she looks a bit disgusted.  
“Well, I…” Aziraphale is extremely flustered. _We stare at each other lovingly? - Oh, who am I fooling? Of course I stare at him._  
“He stares at me?”  
“Uh, yeah, like I said. All the time. Not very… what was that clever word? - Subtle.”  
Aziraphale’s stomach warms at that. He scratches his ear self-consciously.  
Yes, their relationship has evolved immensely since Armageddon’t, but he doesn’t know if Crowley is ready to admit being… what are they? Boyfriends? Lovers?  
The angel has always been unsure about such labels. They haven’t even said the three words…  
And it’s not like they’ve _slept_ slept together. Though last night had been a near-miss.  
_That’s certainly nothing to discuss with an eleven-year-old._  
He must look very flustered, because Pepper asks:  
“I’m sorry Mr. Zira, was that a rude thing to point out?”  
“Oh no, my dear. Not rude. It’s just very complicated, you see?”  
He stares at Crowley’s back. The other being saunters besides the boys, who are gesturing and shouting about something seemingly very exciting.  
The angel sighs. “I really don’t know what to call us.”  
“But you clearly like each other.”  
“Yes, he is very dear to me.”  
The girl frowns.  
“Then I don’t get what’s so complicated about it.”  
“Oh, maybe you will, one day. It’s just how it goes sometimes.”  
Pepper nods thoughtfully and dashes off to Warlock, and the both of them put their heads together for the rest of their walk.

Thursday is zoo-day. Warlock is giving them a tour; he’s been here many times while growing up and has rather fond memories of it.  
Crowley mostly trails after the group – animals have never liked him and he doesn’t want to spoil the visit with scaring them away. He makes do with advancing the exhibitions when everyone else sets off to the next one, trying to get a glimpse at whatever animal is displayed.

When the group moves on from the camels, Warlock involves Aziraphale in a conversation, getting him to stop after just a few steps, while the other children dash off to the next exhibition.  
“Say, Uncle Zira, Pepper told me you and Uncle Crowley are not a couple?”  
_Oh dear, not this again._

“As I already told her yesterday, Crowley is very important to me, but we have a complicated history. I think we will need some time to figure it all out.”  
Warlock strolls a bit more to the side. Aziraphale instinctively moves along, without noticing anything suspicious. He misinterprets Warlock’s concentrated expression.

“Don’t worry, dear boy. We’ll be fine. You don’t have to burden your mind with our problems.”  
“But you love Crowley, don’t ya?”  
The angel coughs and blushes furiously.  
“I say, you really caught me napping there. Where did this question come from?”  
“Come ooon, Uncle Zira.” Warlock nudges him with his elbow. “You do, don’t you?”

_Shucks._ He has never admitted it out loud, to nobody. And ideally he’d like Crowley to be the first one to hear this. Aziraphale starts sweating.  
He’d rather dodge the question, but his angelic conscience reminds him how bad it would be to lie about something so important to his godson. And he really hasn’t got it in him to deny his feeling for Crowley anymore.  
He sighs wistfully.  
“Yes. Yes, I do love him. Very much so.”

They hear a _Fwooomph!_ behind them, and when Aziraphale spins around, he spots smoke rising from the hay in the camel’s manger and little flames starting to lick around.  
The camels, which had already retreated to a far corner opposite to Crowley, bleat indignantly and take shelter in their stable. The demon sways and crouches down, clinging to the fence with his fingers while Aziraphale’s hands have flown to his mouth; his eyes are big like saucers.  
Warlock slinks off hiding his grin behind his scarf.

The angel stares at Crowley’s back for several seconds. His feet feel like they are rooted to the spot and he genuinely has no idea what to do now.  
The flames are spreading in the manger, briskly burning their way through the hay and starting to cause a big commotion with the other zoo visitors and animals.  
Aziraphale quenches the fire with a move of his arm and does a little blessing to keep other people from coming near. Then he bends his steps towards the other being.  
Crowley’s hasn’t moved at all and doesn’t react either when the angel comes to a halt next to him.

“It’d be a shame if the whole exhibition went up in smoke, don’t you think?”  
The demon keeps quite. Aziraphale shuffles his feet.  
“Are you alright, love?”  
“Ngk!!!”  
Crowley’s shoulders are trembling. The angel stares into the greenery.  
“You know, I can never decide if I like zoos or if I don’t. I know they serve educational and preservation purposes, but I cannot get used to majestic animals being caged and restricted like that. Humanity has come a long way, but they’ve also done quite a lot of damage.”  
The other being nods, but keeps his head low.  
Aziraphale sighs and gently flutters his fingers over Crowley’s back.  
“We’ve seen it all over the millennia, haven’t we? The wars and the peace treaties. The plagues and the medical inventions. The environmental destruction and the attempts to save what’s left. Somehow humanity always manages to survive. They are quite ingenious.”  
The demon mumbles something.

“What was that, darling?”  
“That’s why we can’t leave’m alone.”  
The angle chuckles. “Yes, that’s right.”  
He turns his head, looking for the kids. “I believe our little raccoons are waiting for us. You think you’re alright to stand up again?”

Aziraphale can see Crowley’s torso move with a deep breath and one last shuddering exhale.  
Then the other being rises, smoothing his clothes and squinting at him shyly. His face seems a little moist, and red.  
The angel gingerly cups it with both hands and wipes Crowley’s cheeks with his thumbs. His blue eyes are shining like the sea.  
A strangled noise escapes the demon’s mouth, an almost-sob, and then he pulls Aziraphale in a short and bone-crushing hug, before raising his head defiantly, turning on his heel and marching towards the little group huddled in front of the lama exhibition.  
The angel shakes his head and takes a couple of deep, steadying breaths.  
When has his life become so shockingly unpredictable?  
_Oh, but don’t you just love it?_  
He trails after them, smiling privately to himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Matching with the beginning of the chapter, have some lovely [snuggles](https://www.instagram.com/p/B9WLjkcl7bP/?igshid=t6jcw887w5dq) in bed drawn by sam__sketches <3 (has some light nudity).
> 
> Little warning for the next chapter, it‘s going to get very explicit!  
> Edit: Sorry, fixed the link.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DISCLAIMER  
> \--- This chapter contains explicit sexual content! It's not appropriate for anyone under the age of 18.---  
> If anyone wants to continue while skipping the juicy part, let me know in the comments and I'll give you a summary of everything else that happens in this chapter.
> 
> Everyone of age:  
> Aaah, I‘m really posting this! I wasn‘t sure if I‘d be confident or comfortable enough to share the sex scenes I‘ve written with you. I‘m in a state of mind now where I‘m just gonna give it a shot und hope you won‘t hate it.  
> Constructive criticism would be much appreciated.
> 
> All in all it's a rather long chap this time, because Covid has given me the opportunity to hole up in my study a lot more. 
> 
> Hope you like.  
> Cheers,  
> Lae

When they retreat to their bedroom in the evening, Aziraphale doesn’t know what to expect.  
Crowley has not mentioned the conversation he’s overheard with one word, but has blushed deeply every time the angel looked at him after that.  
His eyes have been shining especially golden behind those sunglasses of his and he’s used every opportunity to touch the other, like picking a leave out of the angel’s blonde curls or offering a hand when Aziraphale’s legs had gotten numb from crouching in front of the meerkats.

The kids have made sure to keep mostly out of their way and tried to keep down their shenanigans.  
Then they’d discovered how Crowley kept his distance for their sake and from then on, one of them always stayed with him. It’s been rather touching. The demon pretended very badly to not care at all.

As soon as the door closes, Crowley is all over him. He flings off his sunglasses, shoves Aziraphale against the wall and kisses him frantically, as if he’s determined to snog the other senseless.  
He is pressing his body against the angel’s and Aziraphale barely manages to keep his balance.

“Darling, what are you-?”  
Crowley has used the parting of their lips to relocate his mouth to Aziraphale’s throat and bites down tenderly. Aziraphale’s breath hitches and his eyelids flutter. His protest gets weaker.  
“What… about…?”  
“I’ve done a miracle on the door, they won’t hear us.”  
The words go straight to the angel’s loins. He tries to hide his arousal unsuccessfully.

“Oh Angel…” Crowley sighs, starting to shift his body so his upper leg ends up between Aziraphale’s thighs.  
The other being makes a small noise and digs his fingers in the back of his demon’s shirt.  
He doesn’t know what’s more overwhelming – the love Crowley emits like a burning sun, or the passion he creates in Aziraphale with every move and every touch.

“I want to show you…” The demon’s voice fails him. He gulps.  
“Yes, love?” Aziraphale murmurs.  
Crowley’s body vibrates under the pet name.  
He sighs again and fits his lips back on the angel’s, lapping his tongue against the other’s mouth so he lets him in.  
Aziraphale melts into the kiss and relishes in the feeling of the demon’s tongue against his own and his hands in his hair, scratching lightly at the skin of his head.

He presses himself against Crowley’s leg and slips his hands under the demon’s shirt, caressing his stomach and chest.  
When his fingers graze one of the demon’s nipples, Aziraphale can feel Crowley’s erection twitch eagerly against his thigh.  
He slides one hand between their bodies to cup it and moves his thumb over the fabric.  
_This is how much he wants me._

Crowley hisses and his eyes roll back. He tries to move in the angel’s hold, but Aziraphale won’t let him, his other hand holding the demon firmly at the hip.  
Damn, it drives Crowley crazy.  
But the only thing he manages is a weak sound of protest.

“Hmm, you’re so beautiful like this.” The angel hums, trailing his fingers over the demon’s lower lip and pressing his hand harder against the swell between his legs.  
Crowley whimpers, a shiver going through his body.  
“Was that what you wanted to show me? How much you want me? How much you care?”  
He’s starting to nip on the demon’s jawline, whispering the words along, and moving his hand up and down, tantalizingly slow.  
An almost animalistic sound leaves Crowley’s lips as he jerks his hip forward, trying to gain more friction.  
His hands have found their way to Aziraphale’s back and are now slipping underneath the trousers, grabbing his bare buttocks.  
A delicious little gasp escapes the angel’s mouth.

Oh, but Crowley wants him closer, much closer than this. Nothing will ever be close enough.  
He nearly squashes Aziraphale’s hand as he presses at him and the other being pulls it out of the way.<\br> Their erections finally line up and rub against each other through their pants. They both moan.  
“Ah… Love, you make me feel so, so good.” Aziraphale gasps and Crowley moans even louder, his movements growing more erratic.  
The angel captures his lips, muffling the noises the demon makes in the back of his throat.  
But it’s still not nearly enough for Crowley, he craves more, he needs more – he gets his mind under control long enough to open his belt and zipper with a thought; Aziraphale’s too.

The angel stops and looks down when he hears the tinkling of the buckles.  
Then, with a stare so intense it takes Crowley’s breath away, Aziraphale raises his hand and snaps his fingers. The demon can feel his trousers and underwear vanish.  
“Ah, angel – “ slips out of his mouth meekly, goose bumps breaking out all over his skin. His erection bops freely between their bodies. 

Aziraphale’s eyes soften.  
“Was… is this too much? You have to tell me – “  
Crowley still finds it hard to believe that he deserves this wonderful creature.  
He groans and grabs his lover by the wrist to guide him to his groin.  
The angel gasps and his perfect pink lips form a surprised _Oh!_ , but then his gaze becomes hot again and his mouth shows a little satisfied smile.  
The demon could nearly discorporate by it.  
And when Aziraphale starts stroking him with long and attentive movements, he nearly falls to his knees, because this is just plain unbelievable, how good the other can make him feel with his hand alone.  
„Crowley, darling, you’re just wonderful.” The angel purrs, obviously delighted about the reaction these compliments are causing in his lover.  
“I could do this to you all day, you feel marvellous…”

The demon’s face is burning, with shame or arousal or both altogether, he doesn’t care. It’s absurd how turned on he gets just by being praised.  
He just wishes that Aziraphale will never stop talking again, or moving his hand like that, or looking at him with those blue eyes, burning right down to his core…

Suddenly, Aziraphale lets go for a second, and then his hand returns, now all slick and wet.  
“Oh! Ooohh…”  
Crowley almost comes then and there, just from one lubed up stroke.  
Aziraphale gulps, obviously trying hard to keep the last bit of his composure.  
A blink and he stands in his undergarments, the silky fabric showing a small wet spot where it gets strained by the head of his cock.  
“Darling, could you…” He gestures at Crowley’s knees.  
The demon nods and moves his leg back between his lover’s thighs, so the other can thrust against him.  
Aziraphale bites his lip and starts rubbing slowly and reverently, his hand still wrapped around Crowley’s cock. He looks unbelievably hot like this, all flush and panting heavily.

The angel sets a maddening rhythm, alternating between paces and sometimes just circling his thump over the head of the demon’s erection.  
He seems to try out what Crowley likes and what not, and gets the hang of it quite fast. The demon quivers under his hands and he knows, he’s making a lot of ridiculous little noises, but they just seem to spur Aziraphale on.  
He lets his head loll forward and starts sucking a love bite into the tender flesh above the angel’s collarbone and now Aziraphale’s voice joins him with even louder sounds of pleasure than his own.

“Oh Crowley, yes, just like that, ahh, you wonderful, wonderful…”  
The demon knows he’ll soon be done for; he moves his head for one last messy and delicious kiss, not caring that he’ll be the first one to come – he just can’t stand it anymore.  
Little did he expect, as soon as their tongues meet, a shudder goes through Aziraphale’s body and he breaks away from Crowley’s mouth, a moaned “Oh fuck!” leaving his lips as his cock spasms with an overwhelming climax.  
It tips Crowley over the edge instantly; he’s spilling all over the angel’s hand while gasping and panting hard through the waves of his orgasm. He sees stars and steadies himself against Aziraphale, who’s only held up by the wall behind him right now.

__

It takes a few minutes for them to regain a sense of consciousness; they both mostly cling helplessly to each other in the meantime. The angel even mumbles a few more praises while making jerky little movement with his hands, as if he wants to caress, but doesn’t know how his arms work anymore, or can’t even remotely locate where they are.

When Crowley comes to again, his first move is to miracle them both clean, as he figures the angel to be as fussy about this as about everything else. Then he moves his arms from their jumble of limbs to cradle Aziraphale in a proper embrace.  
The angel sighs thankfully.  
“You alright, darling?”  
“More than alright, angel. And you?”  
“Me too, love… how about we change locations to our bed? I don’t think I can stand much longer.”  
Crowley’s arms twitch around him. Aziraphale wonders if it was the new pet name or the expression “ _our_ bed”. He’s getting quite good at detecting the things which get the demon flustered.  
Crowley slowly releases him from the hug and his golden eyes are twinkling in the twilight.

Then his gaze wanders down to their bare legs and to feet that still have their socks on. He snorts.  
He maybe even looks a bit embarrassed, since he’s the only one without underwear right now. He tries to smooth it with a joke.  
“Look at us. All messed up like two horny teenagers.”  
Aziraphale just smiles. “I don’t know what age has got to do with it. I hope it’ll always be like this.”  
The demon’s blush deepens immensely. “C’mon, angel, let’s just go to bed.” He mumbles, while miracling into his pyjamas.

Aziraphale follows him, and - determined not to let Crowley retreat into his emotional shell – snuggles close to him immediately, placing his head in the crook between the demon’s chin and collar bone.  
To his surprise, Crowley starts to gently stroke his hair and slides his feet to meet the angel’s. Though the demon likes to cuddle, he still mostly needs to huff and puff for a bit, before he allows himself to give in and – seemingly restive – go along.  
It’s a game Aziraphale is used to play by now, but today it doesn’t seem necessary. _How nice._

“Hey angel…” Crowley pulls him from his thoughts.  
“Yes, darling?”  
“I wanted… ach, no.” He exhales heavily.  
Aziraphale quietly waits for him to gather his wits.

“It’s just – you know that _I’m yourss_ , don’t you?”

The words hit Aziraphale’s heart with a pang. His eyes shoot open and his pulse hammers, joy dancing through his being like little bumblebees.  
It’s not the magical three words, but yet…  
He swallows. “I must admit that I’d hoped that to be the case…” The angel answers, his voice a bit weak. He is feeling very light right now, as if he could float away without even pulling his wings into this plane.  
The demon harrumphs.  
He’s so nervous that his snake-tongue has come out unvoluntarily.

“Ssorry. I should’ve ssaid ssssomethin’ ssooner… Ssorry I didn’t ssay ssomethin’ today at the z-zoo... You know I’m crap with thisss” - Aziraphale feels him gesturing above his head – “thiss ssstuff.” He ends lamely.

Crowley seems to feel quite uncomfortable in his own skin and starts shifting.  
The angel snatches his hand from the air and holds it close to his chest.  
“You don’t have to explain anything, sweetheart. I’m glad you told me.”  
The demon squeezes his hand.  
“I worry sometimes. That it’s not enough.”  
_That I’m not enough._ Swings between the lines.  
_Not outspoken enough, not romantic enough._

Aziraphale shakes his head. “As far as I’m concerned, it’s exactly as it needs to be. Don’ fret too much about it, love.” And he caresses Crowley’s hair.  
The demon’s getting goose bumps at that, cursing internally about his inability to stay cool when faced with this new status quo. The angel has admitted his love for him. It’s still so unreal, even though the other reminds him repeatedly with the new pet name. He wonders if it’s intentional. _Maybe he knows me just this well…_

The both go quiet for a while. Then:  
“Sweetheart?”  
“Yeah?”  
He can feel Aziraphale’s pulse quicken.  
“It’s a bit embarrassing, but I think you’ve got more experience in… carnal relations than me.”  
Crowley chuckles in surprise.  
“Carnal relations? Really, angel? Just call it sex.”  
“Okay. Well.“ He fidgets.  
“As I said, I’ve had some… encounters, but it was never – I mean, it was nice and all, but with you just now… That was. Err. Better. Much, much better. Like, _a trillion times better._ Is this how sex is supposed to be? Have I done it wrong until now?”  
It sounds so equally astonished and bashful that the other being bites back his laughter, to not make the angel mad or embarrass him further.

“I don’t know what you’ve been up to, but from what _we’ve_ done - I doubt you’ve done it wrong, per se. I think it’s got a lot to do with how you… match with the other person?  
\- ‘Cause it’s never been as good for me, either.” He admits. “Never as good as with you.”  
His voice breaks a little at the end.  
The angel frowns with suspicion.  
“And you’re not just mollycoddling me?”  
Crowley holds up two fingers and rasps: “I swear I’m not. I mean, wasn’t it obvious?”  
He wonders how the angel could be so fucking perfectly hot and confident while having sex and still wonder if he’s done it right afterwards.

Aziraphale blushes and lowers his eyes. “Excuse my insecurity. I really don’t know much about these things. I imagine you were a skilled seducer, if you put your mind to it.”  
The demon acts offended. “Oi! Why the past tense?”  
“Oh no, I didn’t mean it like that! Please don’t think that, it was just…” Aziraphale looks shocked.  
But the demon already doubles up with laughter.

“Hmf, I’m glad you’re enjoying my misery.” Aziraphale pouts, rolling on his back and crossing his arms playfully. The demon just curls around him and pecks a kiss on his cheek.  
“So I’m not bad at sex either, angel?”  
“No. Definitely not.” The other being concedes, winking at him and unfurling his arms.  
“You’ve had me completely under your spell, in case you hadn’t noticed. “ His voice is going softer. “You’re just irresistible to me.”  
Crowley’s serpentine pupils widen and his ears glow up spectacularly.

Aziraphale giggles. “You are so cute when you’re flustered.” He tells him.  
The demon scowls at that. “Angel. I - am - _not - cute!_ ”  
The other being just giggles louder. “Darling, that was roughly as convincing as your little speech at the convent. _I am a demon, I’m not nice!_ ” He imitates his lover and he looks so funny, trying to do Crowley’s most furious expression, that the demon fails to be affronted.

Instead he starts tickling his angel until Aziraphale surrenders, and then they lie beside each other, hands intertwined, and just gaze into each other’s eyes.  
Crowley finally initiates one last sweet little kiss and then yawns.  
“I think I need my beauty sleep now. We’re going to have a lot to do tomorrow, after all. We have to prepare for my favourite holiday!”  
“Yes. We will. Sleep well, sweetheart.”  
“You too, angel.”  
…  
“Darling?”  
“Yes?”  
“I’d say that was your best used miracle ever.”

On Friday, when Halloween is finally approaching, they have tremendous fun decorating the flat.  
While the weather outside is gruesome, Crowley and Aziraphale are in high spirits and the children full of energy.  
The demon is so occupied with making heart-eyes at his angel that Warlock and Adam even manage to scare him with jumping from their hide-out behind the kitchen counter.  
Crowley squawks - very undignifiedly - blushes, and then launches a counterattack.

A spontaneous game of tag with all the children ensues between the living room furniture, and everything becomes a hopeless chaos of cobwebs and plush bats. Aziraphale has to save several items from crashing or falling down and at the end has to cut some webs out of Peppers hair and untangle it from various buttons and zippers.  
The demon looks thoroughly ashamed of himself while his lover fumbles with his wrist watch, which has collected some strings, too.  
The angel just chuckles and shakes his head before he plucks away the last lint and places a soft peck on Crowley‘s hand. The demon’s ears light up.

No matter what goes one in their bedroom, he still has a hard time getting used to openly shown gestures of affection. 

__

Adam and Brian carve two big Halloween pumpkins; one of them gets named by Warlock immediately, who states the grimace reminds him strongly of the „poo-smelling creep“ from Megiddo, so the thing is “Hastur” from then on.  
Crowley makes a funny choking noise, every time he looks at it.

In the end, there are cobwebs in every corner of the room, the pumpkins glow on the kitchen counter, and there‘s a skeleton standing next to the sofa.  
Adam and Wensleydale examine it with sparkling eyes and are making a bet on whether the thing is the real deal. Aziraphale confirms that it’s authentic, but Crowley notes how ominous the angel gets when asked how he’s acquired it.  
The boys don’t seem to notice and the demon decides he’d rather not want to know. Aziraphale has always had a bit of an unhealthy obsession with everything antique or archaeological.

Since it’s still pouring outside, Crowley suggests a round of Monopoly, which earns him the approval of the children.

(With the exception of Pepper. She needs some convincing, since the game is “clearly the invention of capitalistic _men_ , who wanted to brainwash all kids to grow up to be materialistic realtor-swine”, as her mum told her.)

Aziraphale, who is used to the peace and quiet of a more or less empty home, retreats down into the book shop for a few hours to regenerate, glad that Monopoly can be played only by up to six people.  
He admires Crowley for his endless patience and stamina with the kids.  
He feels a little sting of guilt, because apparently he doesn’t have it in him, but then again, self-care is important too. He decides to make good use of his alone-time and busies himself with picking out scary stories to read to the children in the evening.  
It’s going to be so much fun!

Later he gets drawn into the flat again by the mouth-watering smell of fresh pumpkin pie.  
When he enters, everyone is busy setting the table and the pie cools down on the sill of the open window. The rain has stopped and a pale moon rises above the roofs.  
A lovely clear breeze carries into the place and makes cobwebs and plush bats sway slightly.  
Crowley turns to him and smiles, while the children bustle around him; a content and brilliantly happy smile, without holding back, without trying to hide a thing. Aziraphale hasn’t seen it on him in a long time.

The angel’s heart swells in his chest and he quickens his step towards his lover, taking him by the hands and brushing a chaste little kiss against his lips, holding back all his other emotions in front of their little audience.  
Crowley blushes and fidgets, murmuring a concerned “ _Angel…_ ” while darting his eyes around the room behind his glasses, but the kids only giggle and carry on with their tasks.  
This really isn’t in any way surprising or troubling for them.

When they’ve stuffed themselves with pie, not leaving a single crumb behind, Aziraphale distributes pillows and blankets and encourages the children to get comfortable.  
Crowley lights some more candles, closes the curtains and switches off all other lights.  
The angel takes seat in one of his armchairs and the children gather around him on the floor, all agreeing that the floor is definitely the best place to be while hearing scary stories.  
Crowley joins them, awkwardly folding his long limbs between the kids and the furniture and then they all look at Aziraphale expectantly.

He’s picked out rather harmless stories, kid-friendly, because he doesn’t have the heart to actually scare them. But it’s still very atmospheric, the flickering pumpkins and the crackle of the iron stove; the pipes are making weird gurgly noises they’ve never made before and there’s wood creaking somewhere down in the bookshop.  
Sometimes they can hear a kind of howl in the distance and one time, at a rather thrilling point of a tale, there’s a cold draught waving through the room that causes everyone to wince.

Aziraphale scrutinizes Crowley with a stern look, while the other tries very hard to look innocent.  
_“Don’t overdo it.”_ The angel’s eyes seem to tell him. _“I don’t want them to have nightmares afterwards.”_  
And the special effects tune down a notch subsequently.  
When the angel finishes his last tale, everyone cheers and the kids swear they’ve never listened to a better storyteller. Aziraphale is obviously delighted but accepts their compliments very humbly.

It‘s more difficult than ever to get the kids ready for bed today.  
They all can’t wait till tomorrow, already excited about their costumes and prank ideas and bounce around like a group of very giddy little monkeys.  
Demon and angel have promised to provide them with their costumes of choice and are faced with a long night - yes, they’ll miracle everything together, but it’ll still take time to make everything just perfect. Nothing less is acceptable.

__

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wish everyone a good week and don't let the current situation get to you!


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again!  
> Welcome all new readers and welcome back to everyone who's still here - I hope you forgive me :'D  
> I'm sorry I've been absent for the last two weeks. I have managed to kill my laptop and of course the last backup of this fic was from a time when most of the following chapters had still been drafts. (Rookie mistake, I know.)  
> Now that I've got a working laptop again I'm trying hard to reconstruct what I had written before.
> 
> Something about this Halloween chapter:  
> I have never been to Soho, but from what I've gathered, it probably isn't the kind of neighbourhood with many families and children and places to go trick or treating? So just bare with me while I pretend it is ;)
> 
> I hope you're all well and healthy!  
> Enjoy this new chap.  
> Cheers,  
> Lae
> 
> EDIT:  
> I changed Crowley‘s costume, which had La Catrina make up, after I realized that it was - unintentional, but that doesn‘t make it better - cultural appropriation. La Catrina make up is used to celebrate Día de muertos, which is not Halloween and Crowley is mostly depicted as caucasian and I am so utterly sorry I didn‘t see it before.  
> Yes, angel and demon could have picked up various traditions from different kind of cultures, but using it as a Halloween costume is wrong anyway.  
> No, no-one has called me out on it but as soon as it dawned on me I had to change it.  
> I apologize to everyone that it offended.

Crowley has woken up at the dawn of day with a giddy energy about him and disappeared on Aziraphale after a quick peck on the angel’s lips and a whispered “I still need to get some things”.

“Disappeared” in the literal sense of the word.  
One second he was there, the other he was gone, leaving a small cloud of crimson smoke behind for a stylish effect.  
He’d probably wanted to avoid waking the children and teleported himself to wherever he wanted to go. Aziraphale wonders what he’s up to now.

They’d spent half of the night working on the costumes and arguing about Crowley’s pranking ideas.  
The angel had to talk him out of slashing tiers (“Crowley, you have to be an example for the children!”) as well as spraying graffiti on some quite unsightly buildings (“What? They are already an eyesore to begin with, angel, what bad does a bit of scribbling do?”) and tripping up the especially annoying helicopter parents that would – no doubt – be on the streets with their offspring tonight (Aziraphale had tried hard to find arguments against that, and ended up mumbling something about the immorality of getting other people in danger).  
They’d finally agreed on maybe scaring some of Aziraphale’s more unpopular neighbours a bit and going traditional trick or treating. For the trick-part, they’d negotiated a few rolls of toilet paper and some overripe tomatoes (“To use on their houses, darling, not on their faces!”).  
Somewhere through the demon had brought up stink bombs, but abandoned the topic hastily when he’d seen the expression on Aziraphale’s face.

Too easy, a suspicious voice keeps nagging from the angel’s subconscious.  
Crowley also hasn’t revealed what costumes he has planned for Aziraphale and himself, which is the cause for the second doubting voice murmuring around in the back of his head.  
The angel can be very picky and quite self-conscious about his looks and the fact that someone other is deciding about it makes him feel queasy.  
He sighs and gets out of bed. _Time for breakfast._  
He’ll have to miracle something out of the cupboard. There’s no way he is touching the stove.

Halfway through their meal, Crowley bursts into the flat backwards, manhandling a huge matte black vanity case through the door, the cable of a glue gun that sticks out from his back pocket swinging next to his knee, while at the same time he’s juggling several obscure plastic bags (feathers are poking out of one of them) and an opulent bouquet, consisting mainly of white tulips.  
One of the bags gets carried by the handle with his teeth.

The Them shout their Hello, while Aziraphale hurries over to take the bag from the demon’s mouth and the flowers from the crook of his arm.  
The only reason they haven’t been crushed is that Crowley has willed them not to.  
He lets his baggage tumble to the ground and greets his lover with a kiss.  
“The flowers are for you, angel.” He tells Aziraphale, while repositioning one of the bags that has begun to tilt dangerously to one side.  
“Saw them on the way back. Thought they’d fit you.”  
The angel blushes.  
“Oh! Oh my... they are lovely, darling, thank you!”  
Aziraphale fidgets, than places another kiss on the demon’s mouth and gives him his brightest smile. His cheeks and eyes are glowing as he bustles over to the kitchen and starts arranging the tulips in a vase. Crowley knows at once that he’ll be bringing flowers every week from now.

Quite pleased with himself, he saunters over to the breakfast table, sprawls in Aziraphale’s chair and snatches the last chocolate pastry from the box placed in the middle.  
“Angel, you have to give them something healthy next time. They’ll get a sugar-overdose if it goes on like this, especially when we go trick-or-treating later.”  
“You’re the one who did pancakes.”  
“Yes, but I also made yoghurt with fresh fruits and nuts and toasted bread with salmon and egg aaand, what was the last thing, oh, er… yeah. Peanut butter and jelly sandwiches.” He guiltily rubs his neck.

“Those were great!” Declares Warlock, the one who had dared to wish for a more child friendly breakfast yesterday. They’d eaten everything Crowley had cooked so far, but especially the smoked salmon had found little enthusiasm.  
It was weird, the Them would have never thought about so much as trying things like smoked salmon at home, but here they wanted to prove how grown up they were and gulped it down despite their inner reluctance.  
They had found it to be not half as bad as they’d thought it would be, which made the feel even weirder.

“Are all of these things – “ Aziraphale gestures at Crowley’s bags and case “- for tonight?”  
The angel seems nervous.  
“Yes, I wanted to do some finishing touches on our costumes, angel, and I got some props for the kids we’ve talked about, and well… to be honest it’s mostly make-up.”  
“What?” Aziraphale asks dumbly.  
“It’s mostly make-up.” The demon repeats. “You know? Face paint, fake blood and modelling clay, and of course your normal everyday kind of make-up, different kinds of pens and glitters…” He has pulled the glue gun from under his butt and waves it around while he lists his equipment.  
“…eyeliner, lipstick, faux-lashes…”  
It sounds innocent, but he mainly wants to irritate Aziraphale a little.

 _“Faux-lashes?_ ” A muscle on the angel’s mouth is twitching.  
Oh no, the word alone makes him uncomfortable. He’s always thought that Crowley looks dashing in make-up, while he’s most awkward wearing it, never quite believing that he can actually pull it off.  
The demon knows that.  
“Don’t worry, angel, they’re for me, not you.” He says, winking. “I’ve got a whooole different look planned for you.”  
“As I can imagine.” The other being murmurs gloomily.  
“Hey, don’t sulk like that. Don’t you trust me? You’ll be looking amazing, I promise!”  
This draws a small smile from the angel.  
“I bet Mr. C knows what he’s doing!” Adam comments, his eyes glittering with anticipation. And even Wensley dares to say: “Yeah, actually, I think he always does. I think it will actually be… wicked.”

Aziraphale doubts that either Crowley or him know what they are doing in the majority of their time, but he can feel how fond the kids have grown of the demon.  
They seem to trust him 100% and look up to him with utmost respect for his shenanigans and imagination.  
Of course Crowley always tries to play it cool, but Aziraphale sees right through him.  
_A demon who loves a bunch of little rascals. Somehow he always manages to be the first in something._  
The angel doesn’t want to be a spoilsport, so he gives in and nods.  
“Yes, it’ll probably be all tickety-boo.” His voice still shakes somewhat.  
The other being snickers. 

Several hours later, Aziraphale is nervously perched on the kitchen table, his feet dangling in the air.  
Crowley uses one hand on the angel’s chin to keep his face steady; the other is painting fine lines around Aziraphale’s eyes.  
The demon has pondered a lot about how to guise the other being without making the angel more uncomfortable than he already is, and keeping his plan on highlighting the other’s beautiful features.  
Slowly and meticulously, he adds another feather to the corner of Aziraphale’s eye.

The other being wrinkles his nose.  
“You have to keep still, angel, or I’ll smudge it!”  
“But it tickles!” Aziraphale complains. “Are you still not finished? I think that’s quite enough paint on my face.”  
Crowley sighs internally and dips his brush back into the small paint pot.  
He’s glad he’s done the children’s make-up first, because this is breaking his nerves.  
Aziraphale’s impatience and doubt don’t mix well with his urge to kiss the angel whenever he gets close to his face. Or with the flashbacks from the other night, Aziraphale’s lips on his skin, his hands on his… _Argh. Stop it. Why do you have such perfect lips, angel, and these plump little cheeks, and this tasty pale neck…_

The demon sighs loudly this time. It’s a sheer act of power to not react physically and keep his focus on the make-up. He’s barely keeping his hand steady enough to not bodge it all up.  
The commotion the Them are causing in the background doesn’t help, either, but he doesn’t want to take it out on them.

Aziraphale mumbles a small “I’m sorry, darling.” at his sigh and Crowley manages to snap out of it.  
“It’s alright, angel. Don’t worry. I know this is hard for you. You’re doin’ great.”  
And he smiles reassuringly.  
_Who am I to complain? He’s anxious enough as is._  
The other being’s expression changes to something soft and grateful.

The kids are currently fighting over which of them has the best costume and if Crowley were to take sides - which he would never do openly in a discussion like that - he’d probably go with Pepper’s or Adam’s.  
Warlock, Wensley and Brian had more or less easy ideas on who they wanted to be.  
Vampire Warlock wears long black robes and a black cloak with a stand-up collar. His face is painted very pale, blood trickling down his lips and chin, and they’ve provided him with very real locking vampire dentures.  
Brian is wearing a blue suit with a red bowtie and huge black glasses, because he really wanted to be Detective Conan. His watch even folds out into a hairline cross, though it doesn’t shoot any tranquilizers, much to his disappointment.  
Wensleydale went all out (for his means) and wished to be Spiderman. He can spray some fake cobwebs from his wrists and can hardly contain himself to not shoot it all off before they’ve even left.

When Pepper declared that she wanted to be a witch, Crowley thought it would become another standard costume, but the girl had stared at him furiously and told him he’d better not come up with some pointy hat and a broom, because everyone here knew what a _real witch_ should look like.  
She’s now wearing a long blue puffy and frilly dress and boots; her wild locks have been smoothed to glossy waves and done up in a half-bun; a pair of round horn-rimmed glasses adorns here nose and she is currently marvelling at her sweets-bag, which is an oversized replica of the Nice and accurate prophecies with a shoulder-strap.  
Aziraphale had been especially proud of that one and changed it a lot until every detail fit.

Adam’s costume had been mainly about the make-up and as thus Crowley had gone all out on him.  
The boy wished to be Frankenstein’s monster and the demon had made sure to make it look as realistic as possible, complete with ugly sutures, nasty scabs and dirty bandages, and bloody screws poking out of a sickly grey-green skin.  
Aziraphale had complained about the inaccuracy of this display, stating that the original monster from the novel had looked nothing like that and thus they were not doing right by the author.  
Adam and Crowley chose to ignore his objection entirely and Adam had taken ages in front of the mirror, praising every gory detail and generally being utmost delighted about the whole thing.

The demon is finalizing Aziraphale’s look with the last golden highlights, puts down his brush and takes a step back.  
The children gather behind him to admire his work.

It’s a bird. Crowley has painted delicate white and almond-coloured feathers around the angel’s eyes, kind of like a Venetian mask. He’s coloured the eyebrows almond, too, and put a thin golden eyeliner on the upper lid; little golden highlights twinkle on the feather-patterns.  
Crowley has curled the angel’s lashes slightly and put just a bit of mascara on.  
He would have loved to apply some feather-lashes, but Aziraphale had made clear that he wouldn’t tolerate any kind of that beforehand. It’s a shame the angel is so insecure about this; Crowley thinks it would have looked even more stunning.  
He has painted a brown beak on Aziraphale’s nose and put ear cuffs on him that reach from the tip way down to the lobe and carry lots of striped and dotted natural feathers.  
The angel’s blue eyes are highlighted by the light colours around them and the demon feels his heart melt at the thought of how much it must have cost Aziraphale to let him do this.

The angel’s gaze darts nervously from one person to the other.  
“And? How is it?”  
“You look amazing!” Pepper cheers and the boys nod approvingly.  
“Looks real good on you, Uncle Zira!” Warlock says, grinning.  
Aziraphale seems unconvinced.  
“Crowley, darling, would you give me that mirror already?”  
The demon snickers. “Look at you, all grumbly, although I’ve just turned you into a masterpiece of a Halloween costume!”

He winks and hands the mirror to his angel. He tries really hard not to bite his nails. _Here goes nothing…_  
The angel takes a look in the mirror, then moves it farther away and back in again, tilting his head from side to side, narrowing his eyes and fluttering his lashes, but otherwise keeping a completely straight face.  
Everyone else holds their breath.

“I say, I look like a very pretty owl!”  
The kids giggle and Crowley exhales a very long stream of air.  
“That was the plan, angel. Do you like it?”  
Aziraphale nods.  
“Yes, I like it!”  
It sounds utterly surprised.  
“I didn’t think I would… I didn’t think it would suit me, you know? But you’ve done a marvellous job, sweetheart. Though…”  
He raises his fingers towards the golden highlights, stopping just before the actual touch, as to not destroy the pattern.  
“Those are…” The angel hesitates.

Crowley wonders what the problem is.  
It’s just a few spots of gold sputtered across Aziraphale’s cheekbones, whatever could he…  
“Ah… oh damn.” The demon would very much like to become a snake right now and bite his own tail.  
_Stupid, why haven’t you thought of that?_  
Pictures of Uriel and Michael are flashing through his mind.

“Is it the golden part? Does it hit too close to home? I can take it off…”  
Aziraphale sighs and regards himself in the mirror again. Then he throws Crowley a lopsided smile.  
“No, please don’t ruin your hard work, my darling. I had this association firstly, yes, but it’s not bothering me a lot. And I think it’s time to leave these demo- err, this unpleasant chapter behind…  
It’s really lovely, please don’t change anything.”  
“If you’re sure ‘bout that…” Crowley makes an apologetic face.  
The angel puts the mirror away, slides off the table and takes Crowley’s hands.  
“Yes, I’m sure.” Aziraphale declares firmly, placing a careful kiss on the demon’s lips.  
Crowley blushes. 

The Them have observed the last part of the conversation with confused expressions.  
“What about the golden paint?” Brian demands to know and angel and demon recoil.  
“Err…” Says Crowley.  
Aziraphale tugs on his bowtie and throws the demon a helpless look.  
Crowley wiggles his eyebrows, which in this case means as much as “How should I know, you know my lies are no good when it comes to these children!”  
“Err…” Makes Aziraphale. “Errr… well, it has something to do with my… distant relatives that used to…err-“  
“That used to be make-up artist.” Crowley throws in desperately. “And they were , hmm, really into golden make-up, you know?”  
Aziraphale takes the sheet anchor from him. “Yes, and we had that huge fight and ever since then, when I see someone with golden make-up, it reminds me. Err. Of them.”  
“Ooh.” Comes from the children.

“Distant relatives suck!” Pepper declares and crosses her arms. “My distant cousin Leyla always stole my crayons when she came over with Aunt Theresa.”  
“Is that the same cousin that calls her boyfriend bae and kisses him with tongue and all that?” Adam asks with the morbid curiosity of someone whose puberty is still ahead of them.  
A faint “Eww!” comes from Wensleydale, Warlock and Brian.  
Pepper shakes her head. “No, that’s another one.”

Crowley and Aziraphale look at each other with soft expressions and relax, glad their terribly improvised little story got swallowed so easily. Though they haven’t exactly lied about everything; and that’s a good feeling.  
Then another thing crosses Aziraphale’s mind.

“Will I have to put on different clothes, too?” He inquires warily.  
The demon shakes his head. “I’ve thought about it, but I think your usual clothes fit the owl-theme nicely. Unless you _want_ to put on a costume…?” He lifts an eyebrow.  
Aziraphale raises his hands defensively.  
“No, it’s fine like this, really, please don’t– “  
Crowley snorts. “Don’t get you knickers in a twist, angel, I was just kidding.” He blows a kiss. “You look beautiful.”  
Aziraphale beams at that.

“Now then, darling, you still haven’t told us what you are going to be!”  
The demons smiles mysteriously.  
“Oh, I’m not going to spoil the surprise like that, you will have to wait and see!”  
He grins while gathering his equipment and then disappears into the bedroom. The door shuts behind him and they can hear the key turn.  
Aziraphale looks at the clock.  
“You’ve got one hour, darling, and not a minute more!”  
There’s no answer to be heard.

After precisely 61 minutes – Aziraphale doesn’t know if he should laugh or frown – the key turns again and Crowley strides out the door.  
Pepper and Warlock whistle, while the other boys just gape.  
Aziraphale doesn’t trust his voice so he just holds his breath and stares.  
One thing is certain, everyone who will lay eyes on this demon tonight will never forget the sight.

It‘s the stylized version of a peacock. Crowley has sleeked his hair back and painted metallic shimmering patterns In different shades of green on his cheeks and around his eyes, mirroring Aziraphale‘s owl make-up.  
There‘s a golden beak painted on his nose.  
The demon openly and proudly shows his eyes, not caring they don‘t fit with the costume - he wants to use this opportunity to go without his glasses. He compliments them with long colourful lashes and his nails are coffin-shaped and deep lilac.  
He has changed into a deep blue velvet corsett over a transparent high-necked blouse of the same colour and wears tight green trousers.  
Crowley couldn’t be bothered to run around London’s lumpy sidewalks on high heels all evening, so he has (albeit begrudgingly) completed his outfit with a pair of flat indigo patent-leather shoes.  
It‘s flashy and it‘s glorious.  
If Aziraphale had a fan at hand, he would wave it like a damsel in a ten-layer-hoop-skirt-dress on a hot midsummer afternoon.

“Wow, cool contact lenses, Mr. C!” Adam tells him upon discovering the slit pupils in the midst of golden irises.  
“Can I have some, too?”  
“Nooo, my dear, those are costume-made!” The angel chimes in. “And you won’t butcher Mrs. Shelley's creation even more, not if I can prevent that!”  
Adam rolls his eyes at this display of bibliophilic passion and shrugs.  
“Okay, okay, Mr. Zira, I’ll stay like this. Seems to me I already _have_ the best costume out of all of us, so I won’t make it any harder on the others.”  
This leads to the eruption of another loud and soon quite physical dispute between the kids and gives the angel some more time to recover.

Crowley doesn’t make it easy for him, either. He’s come over and started to run one long, slender finger down his arm and back up again.  
“And, how do you like it?” The demon murmurs, clearly trying to rile Aziraphale up.  
The angel snatches his hand, makes sure the kids are still occupied with their quarrel, leans in and then whispers in an unearthly low voice:  
“ _I’d like it more without those pesky blouse and trousers._ ”  
Then he smiles wide and innocently and leaves a very flustered Crowley at the kitchen counter, who is clutching his chest as if someone had punched him.  
Aziraphale whistles cheerfully while he oversees the children getting ready for departure.

Trick-or-treating goes phenomenally well.  
Wherever they ring a doorbell, there’s (almost) always someone there to give them candies.  
People who’d thought they’d already given all the best ones away find another bag of them just when the group arrives; people who notoriously don’t support trick-or-treating find themselves opening up either way and give the last snacks they could find in their kitchens.  
The poor souls who are so unfortunate to not be at home tonight will discover some new decorations when they return, though they will all turn out to be miraculously easy to clean (courtesy of Aziraphale).

Most of the people who open up are very nice, though. Both genders keep checking out Crowley specifically, albeit most of them in discretion, and Aziraphale can sense at least a handful of sexual-orientation-crises throughout the evening.  
He commiserates them with all his heart.

Especially the Halloween-enthusiasts are effusively complementing their costumes and more than once Crowley and Aziraphale get mistaken for husbands and invited to the next neighbourhood gathering.  
After discovering how flustered both of them get in the process, Warlock does his best to point out how much he loves his _uncles_ , how they are the best at doing costumes and make-up and that _they are living together_ just a couple of streets away above the bookshop.  
Angel and demon barely manage to pause being uncomfortable between doors. When Aziraphale looks like he could pop a vein from all the blushing and after Crowley’s twentieth “Ngk!!!” in a few hundred metres, Pepper takes pity in them and tells Warlock to stop.

When they arrive at Soho Square, a big crowd of children and adults has gathered from all around, playing and celebrating with each other.  
Many adults carry beer bottles, some of the mums even have sparkling wine with them. Children are playing tag or hide and seek and there’s a busy sweets-barter going on.  
Some teens are lolling around, dressed in rather unmotivated costumes, or no costumes at all, because they’re clearly too old and above this to be properly participating. It doesn’t stop them from stealing sweets from their younger siblings, though.

The Them swarm out to make new acquaintances and Aziraphale and Crowley find themselves a quiet spot to observe and chat.  
The demon produces an unobtrusive flask from his back pocket and holds it out to Aziraphale.  
“Care for a drink?”  
“Darling, I don’t think it’s wise to drink while we’re supposed to watch our children.”  
Crowley’s smile is wistful.  
“They are hardly _ours_ , angel.” He remarks and takes a sip of alcohol. The other being sighs.  
“I know, I know. They’re just so lovely to have around. It’ll be quiet when they leave tomorrow.”

Aziraphale snatches the flask from Crowley and swallows a small amount.  
The demon puts his arms around him and squeezes.  
“Yeah. I’ll miss them, too.”  
His lover squints at him. “I never thought I’d hear you say that. I remember how prickly you got when I first mentioned to invite them.”  
Crowley groans.  
“I was just being overly bitchy and anxious. I’m training hard to be neither, you know?”  
“As I’ve noticed, sweetheart.”  
Aziraphale tilts his head and kisses the demon’s hand on his shoulder. The other being blushes.  
There’s a resounding bang from across the square and people begin to scream.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those who don't know what Aziraphale fusses about, the original Frankenstein's monster, as written by Mary Shelley, is described as having yellow skin, long black hair and pearly white teeth, though still being very ugly.
> 
> As to the scene when Aziraphale teases Crowley at the kitchen counter, I imagine Crowley's reaction to be somewhat like [this](https://www.instagram.com/p/B1XWCtYlRNQ/?igshid=1wzhbp19ono4m) ;)


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello my dears,  
> who is ready for some action? :D
> 
> I hope you're having a good weekend!  
> As always, stay safe and healthy out there!  
> Cheers,  
> Lae
> 
> ! Edit: TW There is one line of homophobic insults in here, spoken by one of the bad guys. !

In a split second, the pair is in battle mode. They are scanning the area for the cause of the commotion and Aziraphale sees them first – a group of hooligans, their faces hidden by scarves and ski masks, are laughing and yelling crude things at the crowd, while waving baseball bats and, what it looks like, Bengal flares and (yet to be lighted) huge firecrackers.  
They are clearly here to rough the place up.

It takes a few seconds for everyone around to notice what’s wrong, but then you can see the panic spreading in waves, much like a stone dropped into a pond disturbs the surface.  
A few seconds later the square descends into chaos.  
People are shouting and pushing, searching for their families or already running away headlessly.

Crowley growls. “We need to find the children, angel, quick!”  
“I think they split up. You go over there, I’ve seen Adam and Warlock near that bench. I’m going after the other three.”  
In moments like this, Crowley gets reminded that Aziraphale was once a soldier.  
“Got it, angel. Meet us at the corner over there, okay?  
“Okay!” They throw each other a worrying look and dash off.  
_Ohfuckohfuckohfuck!_

Crowley pushes through the crowd, searching for the flow of a black cloak or a tuft of blonde locks.  
He barely registers the other people, until one of the hooligans comes running towards him, waving his flare. He's clearly drunk.  
“Hey you, you _bent slut_! You know I can see your nipples through your poofy outfit?”  
The demon hisses. A flick of his wrist and the man stumbles and falls, hitting his head on the pavement. Hard. The flare flickers and dies. The man doesn’t get up. Crowley marches on.

Smoke is filling the area and there are firecrackers going off behind him.  
_They are rounding up on the crowd._  
It’s rapidly evolving into a dangerous kind of mass dynamics.  
He moves faster, probably a bit too fast for any normal human being, but the smoke and the panic everywhere hide him; no-one notices that something occult is going round.  
Finally he spots the boys, huddled together behind a tree. Adam is coughing; his face is all red and his eyes are tearing up.  
Crowley is next to them in a heartbeat.

“Hey there, are you alright?”  
Warlock throws his arms around him, while Adam waves his hands through another coughing fit to signal he’s more or less okay.  
“They threw something like a smoke bomb. He didn’t see it coming. He inhaled lots of it.” Warlock is at Adam’s side again and sounds more than a little worried.  
Crowley pats Adam’s back.  
“There, there. I don’t think it was teargas. Just breathe in deeply. Yes, just like that. And now slowly release your breath. And again. You’re doing great, see, it’s already getting better.”  
And really, the coughing subsides and the boy’s skin colour slowly returns to normal.  
“Sorry boys, but we have to hurry now. Aziraphale is getting the others. Come on, stay close to me.”

He begins to push a way through the crowd, trying his best to shelter both kids from the frantic humans around them. When they arrive at the meeting point, the others are nowhere to be seen.  
There’s a sudden blast to their right and there’s a shift in movement – Crowley notices that the crowd starts tumbling towards them, spurred on by a group of hooligans from behind.  
It’s no use, they can’t stay here.

They turn the corner, just rolling with the masses and trying not to be dragged under. They’ve got a far better chance than anyone else, as the demon channels his powers to keep the three of them upright and not too badly bruised.  
The crowd thins out as people disappear into different streets and alleyways and Crowley almost thinks they’re out of danger.  
_We just need to get out of this alley, there’s not enough room here…_  
A familiar voice calls out just at the edge of his hearing range. The demon halts.

He tilts his head like a wolf, trying to locate it’s origin.  
_Aziraphale?_  
The firecracker that gets thrown into the narrow passage leaves his ears ringing.

Two groups of people come stumbling in from both sides, chased by two groups of men with masks.  
Now that they have trapped everyone, they don’t really seem to know what to do. They are waving their weapons around, slurring at the nearest cluster of humans and laughing madly.  
Crowley slings his arms around Adam and Warlock and searches the crowd desperately.  
He could swear he’s heard him again just now, somewhere in here…  
_Come on, angel, where are you?_

Then they hear Aziraphale shouting behind them.  
„Crowley, over here, I‘ve got them!“  
Aziraphale pushes through to the trio, trying his best to keep Pepper, Wensleydale and Brian near and out of harm.  
A weight is lifted from the demon‘s chest.  
„Angel, finally, are all of you alright?“  
„Yes, but I think we should really get the children out of here. No-one will notice in the chaos.“  
The angel looks around nervously, trying to find a spot from where they can teleport mostly unseen.  
“I’ve heard police sirens at the square, it won’t take long till they resolve this mess.”

They are preoccupied. They are relieved to have found each other and react very late.  
There‘s something coming from above.

Crowley looks up to see a huge pack of firecrackers flying towards the kids and he moves on pure instinct. Giant black wings unravel on his back; they spread in a half-circle around their little group and shield them as far as Crowley is able to- but he‘s too slow.  
A sphere of dubious light emerges from Adam’s body and shields them additionally, but he‘s too late, too.  
There must have been something else in those firecrackers, something solid, because Warlock cries out; blood is trickling from his cheek.

Around them the crowd disperses. All eyes are on them and the demon‘s wings.

The angel can see the exact moment when Crowley notices the wound on Warlock’s face, how it sinks into his conscience, and then - something inside the other being _snaps_.  
Suddenly, the air is sizzling with age-old energy.  
People are starting to shove and push out of the alley, trying to seek shelter somewhere else.  
Only the perpetrators - apparently there were eight of them here, five at one end, three at the other - are standing like pillars of salt in Sodom, unable to move under Crowley‘s burning gaze.  
One of them even still holds a crackling flare. The hairs on his hand are slowly beginning to smoulder.

Aziraphale immediately moves towards Warlock, assessing the wound on the tear-covered cheek. He exhales and mumbles a painkilling blessing. “It’s going to be alright, dear.” He whispers to the boy.  
„Darling, relax, I think he‘ll be alri-„  
He has turned back to Crowley, and the demon‘s look has changed completely.

He‘s not in his original eldritch form, but somehow halfway there.  
The Halloween make-up has disappeared. His skin is all black, his red hair is standing up, there are scales showing on his arms, forehead and cheekbones and his eyes are huge and fully yellow. His fingernails are long and sharp and ugly, practically claws, and when he opens his mouth, his teeth have gotten all pointy and the canines look more like fangs than anything else. The patent-leather shoes are no more; the demon's feet have become scaly and a bit too large for him.

Aziraphale notices clumps of scorched feathers, were the firecrackers have burned his wings.  
Crowley obviously doesn‘t listen. His split tongue has become long and black and slithers out as he speaks to the angel.  
„Go. Get them away from here. I‘ll be dealing with thisss lot.“  
His glare is scrutinizing the men around him.  
Aziraphale stares at him pleadingly.  
„Crowley. Just come with us, okay? There‘re too many eyes here.“  
The angel is afraid of what will happen to those criminals. And that the demon will not be able to live with what he seems about to do.

It has been millennia since he has seen Crowley like this.  
The other being has never taken pleasure in acts of violence and only resolved to it when absolutely necessary. Or, on extremely rare occasions, when he felt very, very, furious. And he has become more and more peaceful with time, trying to avoid getting his hands dirty like that whenever he could.  
But the cold, murderous look glinting in his eyes now is making Aziraphale‘s heart ache.

„I’m telling you to get them away from here, angel, _now!!!_ “ Crowley‘s voice shrieks through the passage.  
Smoke is rising out of his nostrils. The whole place stinks of sulphur and burning trash.  
Aziraphale eyes him warily and then looks at the bunch of children beside him, all shivering and staring in shock. He looks at the gash on Warlock’s face.  
He can‘t let them stay.  
„Darling, don‘t do anything rash now! I‘m going to take them to safety and then I‘ll be right back. Do you understand?“  
Crowley looks like someone who has to concentrate hard to stay sane.  
„ _Go now!_ “ He snarls through gritted teeth.

Aziraphale gathers the Them around him and teleports them straight into his flat.  
He doesn’t talk much while he examines everyone thoroughly.  
Regarding to Warlock, he sees he‘s been right the first time - it‘s a cut alright, but nothing threatening. He lays his hand on the boy’s cheek and heals the wound in a few seconds.  
Then he remembers what the kids have witnessed in the last few minutes and he freezes.  
„I... you must all have a lot of questions... I don‘t know how to best explain...“  
He really needs to get back to Crowley, but he can‘t abandon them here, in this state. His stomach is revolting.

Pepper looks at him with the eyes of an adult.  
„We know.“ Is all she says.  
„Know what?“  
„About you and Mr. C.“ Brian says.  
Aziraphale‘s eyes flicker to him.  
„I have told them all about you.“ Adam confirms.  
The angel stares from one child to another.  
„Actually, I think you should go see him.“ Wensleydale adds in a grave voice, still more than a little shaky.  
Aziraphale’s head is spinning and he grabs onto the kitchen counter.  
„But... _How?_ I – No, I cannot leave you alone like this! You must be confused and frightened, and Warlock, you-„  
„It‘s okay, Uncle Zira.“ The boy reassures him with a meek little smile. „You‘ve healed me up all good. It doesn‘t hurt anymore.“  
The angel is lost for words.  
„We can manage.“ Adam states firmly.  
Gosh, they all look far too mature for their age. One can easily forget all that they‘ve been through before.  
„Go!“ Pepper says loudly, when Aziraphale still doesn‘t move.  
„Get him back here! We will wait.“

The angel hesitates a few seconds more, then he inhales sharply and is off with a swoosh.  
He materializes in the alley, behind Crowley. The demon has apparently suspended the movement restriction on the men and has them cornered between a trash container and a wall.  
They all look bruised and scared out of their minds, but don‘t seem to be badly injured. Yet.  
_Thank goodness_ , thinks Aziraphale. He notices the absence of police – probably a barrier Crowley has formed. He approaches the demon cautiously.

The dark creature is hovering over the group like an avenger.  
„P-please d-don‘t kill us.“ One of them stutters barely hearable.  
„We‘ll d-do anything you want.“  
Another one only manages to hiccup perpetually.  
Aziraphale feels a nameless ancient terror shiver deep in his being as he rounds the black feathered figure and gets a look at Crowley‘s face.  
If the angels in heaven had nightmares, this would be the face their dreams would be made of. It’s beautiful and horrible, emitting a dark aura not unlike what one sees when looking into Death’s empty eye sockets. 

The other bares his teeth. His gaze is unsteady; he flexes his fingers, as he if he‘d contemplate who to devour first.  
„Darling...“ The angel begins.  
„Asssiraphale.” Crowley growls without looking away from his prey. “You shouldn‘t have come back.“  
„Crowley, please, I think you‘ve done quite enough.“  
„They have _hurt him_! They would have _hurt all of you!_ “ The demon’s voice has grown into a high pitched howl half-way through.  
The men flinch and huddle tighter together.

„I know. I know, but look at them. They won‘t ever try anything like this again in their lifetime. And Warlock is fine. Thanks to you.“  
Crowley’s eyes finally recognize him at the mentioning of Warlock‘s name. Then they move back to the humans.  
„It‘sss not what they _dessserve_.“

The angel has had enough.  
He unfolds his wings and spreads his arms protectively, and his halo shines brighter than ever; Crowley has to narrow his serpentine eyes.  
„Oh Lord above!“ One of the men gasps.  
Aziraphale‘s voice booms through the narrow passage like church bells and thunder.

„Crowley! Cease your wrath!  
You and I know full well what they deserve and that they will get it when their time comes.  
But you won‘t judge them today!“  
The demon startles. Though his form remains the same, his pose softens a fraction. He blinks.  
“Don’t you go all Gandalf on me, Asssiraphale. Thessse lowlifesss had it coming!”  
His words have lost the predatory undertone.  
The light around the angel lowers and Aziraphale’s voice goes back to tender and pleading.

„Darling, please.“  
He steps forward and lays one hand on the other beings forearm.  
„The children are safe. We are safe. I know you got angry and scared, because I felt the same.  
But you don‘t really want to do this.“  
Crowley shakes his head and pulls his arm away. He steps past the angel, closer to the group.  
„And what if I do? What if I jussst want to tear them all into _tiny_ little shredsss?“

The man from before has started to whisper a prayer.  
„Oooh, your God won‘t lisssten. She never doesss.“ The demon mocks cruelly.  
_Darling, what are you trying to prove here?_  
Aziraphale has got to get him to concentrate.  
„Crowley! Look at me.“

Yellow eyes dart towards him and he holds their gaze. _Time to haul out the big guns._  
„What do you plan to do? Kill them all and return to the children soaked in blood? Do you want to explain to your godson how you just murdered eight defenceless people? You’ll hardly be able to talk yourself out of that one.“  
Crowley turns halfway round, and his expression changes to moderately irritated and maybe even a bit hurt. He clenches his fists and looks at the angel defiantly.  
„ _Who do you take me for? Of courssse I won’t do that._ ” He whispers from the corner of his mouth.

Aziraphale eyes him suspiciously.  
Crowley raises his eyebrows and darts his gaze at the men and at the angel, back and forth.  
Does Aziraphale really not get what he’s playing here?  
Then it dawns on the angel.  
_He’s just pretending?_

If he is, the demon is a terrifying actor. Aziraphale had sensed waves of bloodlust crashing around him before, slicking against his corporation with hungry and vengeful distribrutaries.  
But maybe that’s the thing – If Crowley wasn’t Crowley, he’d just act on what he feels and slaughter them all like any demon.  
But the look he gives the angel is that of a being who has been trained not to act on its feelings for millennia.  
And Aziraphale finally relaxes, despite of the tightness in his stomach.  
And he nods. He’ll have to deal with the shame about thinking so low of Crowley later.

The demon throws him half of a rather cold grin and turns back to the hooligans.  
“Ssso you’re ssaying I should ssspare their livesss?”  
“Yes! Yes, please, let them go.”  
If the situation before hadn’t been so dire, their little good cop/bad cop rendition would have amused Aziraphale to no end.  
The men all nod eagerly; they’re becoming a bit braver thinking they’ve got a guardian angel on their side. “We can just tie them up and drop them off at the police station, would that be alright?”  
The group stops nodding and stares at him wide-eyed.  
Crowley flicks his tongue at them. He suddenly looks very tired.  
“No. I sssay we jussst tie them up and leave’m here to sstew. The polissse will know where to find them.”  
He turns towards Aziraphale. “Take me home, angel.”

Aziraphale hurries to cross the distance between them and slings one arm around the demon‘s back.  
He looks over at the group of hooligans and his eyes and words are like ice.  
„You were lucky today. Not many humans are granted a glimpse of what awaits them in the afterlife. May you always fear the day you die, for this was but a greeting from hell, where you belong. If there were others helping you tonight, tell them what you saw.“  
He’s always been one for dramatic speeches.  
Golden ropes appear from nothing and the angel directs them to tie everyone up at their wrists and ankles. Then he and Crowley vanish into thin air.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, just to clarify, because I noticed I edited out the part of the fic where it got explained (next time I’d love to have a beta, oh jeez): I’m operating partly on the basis of book GO here. In the book, no-one present at the airbase could clearly remember what had happened there afterwards. (I think they even forgot about it entirely eventually? I’d have to re-read that part.)  
> In my fic, all the children had forgotten most of it, but what had remained was the knowledge that they had prevented the end of the world, somehow. Warlock had a similar experience.  
> (That’s at least what Crowley and Aziraphale thought.)  
> But Adam, still having some of his powers, remembered everything and of course told them more about the specifics and filled in the blanks, so to speak.  
> Sorry if that was confusing for some of you. 
> 
> Thanks for the kudos, every single one makes me so happy! <3


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone, welcome back and welcome all new readers! :)
> 
> Quick annotation: Did I imagine Crowley's occult form having a distinct resemblance to X-Men's Mystique? - Mmmayyybe... :'D
> 
> So, lemme tell you good people who stick with this story: this fic is my rock right now, and all of you reading it and leaving kudos and comments are keeping me upright and motivated. But no matter if you're "just" reading silently or in any way interacting or recommending it to your friends or whatever - without knowing you, I love you so much!  
> (Okay, I am done being sappy and sentimental now, I'm sorry :D)
> 
> I've also busied myself with trying to clean up the layout in previous chapters, though I haven't gotten to all of them yet.  
> If anyone has any kind of improvement suggestions for my writing - I'm always glad to hear them.
> 
> I'm gonna leave you to the new chapter now, hope you like! :)  
> Cheers,  
> Lae

…Only to come back into corporeal form a couple hundred metres away.  
Crowley’s expression is pure disbelief. He even forgets to hiss.  
“Aziraphale? What- what are you doing?”

The angel wrings his hands. “Oh, sweetheart, I am _so_ sorry, we’ll go back right away, just let me have a quick look if anyone needs help…”  
He glances around the square, while the demon cowers behind a corner, still too upset to change back to his more humanly form.  
There are police and paramedics all over the place, but maybe he’ll need to heal some more serious injuries?  
Aziraphale needn’t have worried.  
There have been a few broken bones and some second degree burns, but nothing more physically threatening.  
But he can sense the psychological traumas of tonight already settling in the minds around him and that just won’t do.  
He inhales deeply - a thick, warm and comforting blanket of ease and peacefulness wafts over the place. It conveniently erases all memories of supernatural origin, too, excluding eight certain humans who should better remember everything. The angel won’t be able to get to everyone else, but it’s the best he’s able whip up right now.  
He sighs.  
Crowley tugs at his coat from behind, his facial features sharp and tense in the light of a nearby street lamp.  
“Angel, not that I don’t admire your sense of duty, but I really want to get away from this blasted square.”  
It seems like the blessing didn’t have much of an effect on him.  
Aziraphale nods and takes his hand.

They materialize inside the bedroom, where the angel loses hold of the other being and Crowley staggers towards the bed.  
Aziraphale can hear the children‘s excited voices from next door.  
„Sweetheart, I‘ll be right back. I just want to check in on them real quick.“  
The demon doesn‘t react.

Aziraphale slips out of the room and finds the kids cuddled together on the sofa, under the blue blanket. They barely all fit, but probably didn‘t want to be too far apart.  
Their faces are pale and turn towards him with big eyes.  
„Is Uncle Crowley okay?“ Warlock inquires. „Did you get him back?“  
„Yes, my dear, he‘s back in our room.“  
All of them start to talk at once, demanding to see Crowley and make sure he‘s alright.  
The angel raises both hands to calm them.  
„It‘s lovely of you to care so much, but I‘ll need a moment alone with him. In the meantime” - he gestures towards the coffee table, where five mugs of hot chocolate and a big plate of blueberry muffins appear - “help yourself to something sweet.“  
Warlock seems ready to go nevertheless, but Aziraphale shakes his head and looks at him with stern eyes. “He’s really not fit right now. I’ll go fetch you as soon as I can. Call me if you need anything.”  
Then he returns to the bedroom.

Crowley crouches on the balls of his feet at the edge of the bed like a gargoyle.  
His damaged wings are drooping behind him and he has buried his charcoal face in his palms.  
The claws on his fingers are scratching his skin.  
The angel squats down in front of him and strokes the demon’s feet.  
“Hey there. How do you feel?”  
There’s no sign Crowley has heard him.

He reaches up and gently pulls away one of Crowley’s hands, so he can get a look at his expression.  
The demon plainly looks terrified.  
“Darling. What’s wrong? I thought you were only pretending. Nothing happened.”  
Crowley throws his arms out.  
“Nothing _happened?!_ ” The other being cackles hysterically.  
Aziraphale rises to his feet and stares at him worriedly.  
“We- we could have well lost _all of them_ tonight, angel! It was pure luck that we’ve found them before anything happened!”  
The angel shivers. “I know. Oh darling, I don’t know what I would have done, if… but look, they are all intact and healthy next door. Everything is fine, we can go over and talk to them if that’s what you-“  
“Oh, yeah, jolly good, Aziraphale! _And then what?_ Look at me! Does this look like nothing happened? The children all think I’m a monster!”

 _Ah, now we’re getting to the root of the problem?_  
Crowley has always been one for dramatics, but this hysterical reaction is decidedly out of character for him.  
Aziraphale takes a step towards the bed again.  
“I’m sure they don’t.”  
The demon gets on the floor and rounds the angel, gesturing helplessly and flexing his wings.  
“How can you say that? Have you _seen_ me? I’m an abomination! I just reacted on instinct; I wanted to protect them… For fuck’s sake, what have I done?!”  
“Sweetheart, if you hadn’t been this quick, who knows what would have happened? I didn’t even see it coming and just stood there.”  
“Yes, fine, but I still ruined everything!”  
Aziraphale grabs the demon by the arms to stop his pacing.  
“Listen to me. You. Are not. A monster. You are a demon, yes, and an impossible drama queen, but you’ll see the kids won’t mind. And don’t you dare ever calling yourself an abomination again!”  
There are angry tears glistening in Crowley’s eyes.  
“How can you say that when I look like this? Didn’t you see all the people running away from me? I'm a nightmare.”

And Aziraphale does look at him.  
It has been ages since he had a good look on this demonic manifestation. All he can see is one of the most majestic creatures he has ever laid eyes on.  
He sighs.  
“You are magnificent, darling.”  
The demon jerks his arm away.  
“And I firmly believe that the kids will not hate you for what you are.”  
Crowley tumbles backwards, shaking his head.  
“How can you be so sure? Even _you_ thought I would…” He chokes on his own words and Aziraphale has to swallow around his guilty conscience before speaking up again.  
“I am _so_ sorry, sweetheart, my senses got the best of me. I just felt all this- this rage and bloodlust - ”  
The expression on Crowley’s face tells him this isn’t helping.

“Okay. Look, darling. The point is you didn’t act on it. You were _in control the whole time_. What do you think would have happened if it had been any other demon?”  
Crowley laughs, but there's no humour behind it.  
“I would’ve gladly helped those scumbags along.”  
“See? And that’s how I’m sure that the kids will be alright. They trust you. They love you, sweetheart. Just like me.”  
“ – Well, not exactly like me.” He corrects himself, blushing. “After all, I am _in love_ with you.”

The change in Crowley’s appearance could be compared to letting the air out of a balloon.  
His normal skin colour returns, beginning at his toes and fingers and rapidly spreading towards his centre. His wings seem to shrink back, the scales disappear and everything else morphs back to its usual form. It all happens in a heartbeat.

Then he stands before Aziraphale, pupils blown, body all stiff, and croaks:  
“I… I know I have heard this before, but… could you repeat that?”  
The angel bows his head and smiles. His eyes move up and twinkle in the light of the overhead.  
“I love you, darling. More than anything.”  
The demon sways and his legs hit the bed behind him. He sits down, looks up at Aziraphale – and bursts into tears.  
The angel is on his side in the blink of an eye, holding and caressing him, while Crowley visually fights with his body to stop this embarassing display of distress.

Aziraphale reassesses the situation.  
Maybe it had been more than just the concern about his occult form… he’ll just have to try and calm him down.  
Aziraphale rocks their bodies slowly and whispers soothing words at his demon, while all of today’s stress and worry seem to pour out of both of them.  
“You love me.” Crowley sniffles from time to time, and then: "These damn eyes, why don't they... haven't they done enough already this year, I can't..."  
\- and Aziraphale laughs quietly, ignoring the bickering about his corporation and assures him his love for him is true. 

”You old silly, you knew that before, didn’t you?”  
Yes, yes Crowley did, but it’s an entirely different matter to finally hear it face to face.  
“ _You’re_ an impossible drama queen.” The demon mumbles and Aziraphale nearly chokes.

There’s a knock on the door. They can hear Warlock’s distressed voice calling from the other side.  
“Uncle Zira, you have been in there forever! We want to know what’s going on! If you don’t tell us what’s wrong with him right now, we are breaking this door-“  
Aziraphale raises his hand to miracle the door open, but Crowley stops him, horrified.

“No. Angel. Please. They are going to be afraid of me. They - they saw…”  
The angel tuts at him. “Darling, when will you learn to trust me in these matters? Besides, they already know.”  
“WHA-“  
He finishes the gesture and the door swings open.  
All five of them nearly topple over into the room.  
As soon as Warlock spots Crowley on the bed, he hurries over and then hesitates when seeing the traces of tears on the other‘s cheeks.  
The demon fumbles around, trying to get a pair of sunglasses into his face, but Aziraphale gently pulls his hand away and shakes his head.  
„It‘s okay, love. You‘ll see.“  
He smiles encouragingly at the children who are slowly approaching the bed.  
Warlock stops just in front of them both and cocks his head, clearly unsure what to do now that he has reached his goal.

„Uncle Crowley... are you hurt?“  
He reaches out and leaves his hand hovering awkwardly in the space between them.  
The demon looks at him in surprise, but raises his arm to take it.  
„N-no. No, m’not. What about you? Your face?”  
„Oh, Uncle Zira has already healed it. There‘s not even a scar.“  
It sounds a bit disappointed.  
„If you aren’t hurt, why did you cry?“ Wensleydale chimes up from behind.  
Pepper jabs him into the ribs.  
„Ow!“  
Crowley‘s eyes flick over and clears his throat.  
„Because... because I was really scared for you, I think. A-And then I was really glad that everything turned out alright.“  
He sounds dumbfounded, because the kids really don‘t seem to mind him at all.  
The angel squeezes his hand and Crowley looks at him questioningly.  
Now Brian is starting to talk. 

„You didn‘t seem scared to me.“ He proclaims while craning his neck to admire the demon‘s eyes. „You were really cool back there!“  
The being in question gapes.  
„I thought you‘d all hate me.“  
„Why?“ Warlock calls. „You saved us! You and Adam, you shielded us from that attack! You‘re our hero!“

Crowley, who finally gets that the children indeed seem to know what he is, still can‘t believe they don‘t care.  
He has forgotten three of them already had to deal with the Antichrist and are still friends with him; and he has never noticed that Warlock has been suspicious of his nanny since the beginning and loved her either way.  
He shakes his head.  
„I am a demon. I’m not a hero.“  
„Seems to me,“ Adam says „there‘s nothing wrong with being both of that. Seems to me you can be a demon and a good person. I have to know, I was the Antichrist.“  
Crowley sniffles and laughs, and rubs his eyes.  
Immediately the children gather around him, hugging him and starting to make jokes along the lines of „at least you didn‘t freeze us and stole our mouths“ and Crowley just beams at them and chuckles and it is all so touching that Aziraphale cannot help but shed a few tears himself.

It gains him some cuddles, too, and the whole group evolves into a messy giggling pile of bodies.  
It‘s the most wonderful thing.  
“Wait, wait!” Crowley suddenly throws in, the whole situation still making his brain do somersaults. “Does this mean you little shits _pretended this whole week not to know?_ ”  
Wensley looks at him prouder than when he’d won the science contest at school.  
“Actually, yes! And actually, _you_ little shits were the ones who started it!”  
Aziraphale throws his hands to his mouth at that, and Wensley, terrified by his sudden rush of bravery, goes to hide under a blanket for the next 5 minutes. 

It becomes some kind of picnic.  
The angel miracles another round of muffins and hot beverages (actually making a huge exception of his "No food in bed"-policy) and everyone sprawls over the duvets, merrily chatting away about various topics.  
Pepper and Brian question Crowley endlessly about his snake eyes and his ability to change, while Warlock and Adam are discussing who would win the fight, Crowley or Batman.  
(Crowley does refrain from commenting that - if Aziraphale would be thrown in the mix – he would bet all of his money on the angel.)  
Wensleydale has occupied Aziraphale and discusses occult texts with him, brimming with a thirst for knowledge he usually only displays for his stamp collection.  
Aziraphale has a hunch that the children had had to exert an extraordinary amount of self-discipline as to not blow their little scheme before. After all which child, getting the chance to befriend two otherworldly beings, does not want to get to know everything there is to know about them?

Crowley slowly recovers from all of - well, _tonight_.  
Though he’d known how attached he had gotten to the little rascals in his life, he didn’t really know what it meant until he’d felt the stone-cold dread of possibly losing them in the mass panic.  
Aziraphale had been the first and only being he had been scared of losing for a long, long time, and then Warlock had come into play, but he’d never allowed himself to miss the little monster too much. It had been crystal clear to him, that keeping the boy wasn’t an option.  
And now he’d come back into his life and brought four others with him and Crowley, free of hell and heaven to judge him, and apparently _dumb as shit_ , had let them into his heart almost instantly.  
It is terribly daunting and regrettably wonderful.

He keeps throwing glances at Aziraphale, and warmth spreads in his stomach.  
_Thank somebody I’ve got you, angel._  
Aziraphale has always been grounding to him somehow, a bitchy yet steady constant in his fast and ever-changing existence.  
_And he loves me. He loooves me..._  
The thought is trilling around his head like a nightingale.  
The angel catches him squinting over and as if he knew what Crowley is thinking, winks and throws him a kiss.

After the kids have been nagging him for almost an hour, the demon finally gives in and shows them his snake form.  
The long black reptile slithers across the sheets and playfully hisses at everyone who tries to touch him – and Warlock has the epiphany of the day.  
He looks at the snake and you can see all the pieces clicking into place - what he’s overheard from Crowley’s conversation with Adam and Pepper and what he‘s digging up from his own memories finally disclose the whole picture.  
His mouth hangs open and his eyebrows nearly disappear under his messy bangs.  
Crowley rapidly changes back, worried he has scared his godson, but Warlock just points a finger at him and goes:  
„So that‘s how you became my nanny? It wasn‘t a disguise?!“

The demon smirks.  
His body shifts and suddenly his head produces long, done-up red locks; the face-contour becomes slightly softer; the lips become fuller and are painted with ruby lipstick, the hint of a stubble is gone; the long body gains some subtle but beautiful curves and her fingers are even slimmer than before.

„Queen!“ Pepper shouts; the boys seem to be still in shock and unsure how to cope with the new look, though are mumbling something like compliments.  
Aziraphale admires Crowley quietly - he prefers the male demon, which is mostly a matter of habit, but is always ready to acknowledge the effortless finesse of this form. She looks dashing as always.  
Warlock on the other hand, looks at the appearance like he‘s about to cry.  
When Crowley cocks her head and furrows her brows, he catapults himself forward into her waiting arms and hugs her tightly. The demon is barely able to keep her balance.  
Only herself and Aziraphale can hear the whispered „Nanny Ashtoreth!“ that slips out of the boy‘s mouth.  
She keeps him inside the tight embrace until he‘s regained his composure and allows herself to feel completely at peace with it.

Aziraphale and the others continue to talk about some different topic, markedly without ostentation.

When Warlock clambers out of Crowley‘s lap and joins them again, the demon turns to Adam.  
„Say, what was it you did back there? Was that a protective shield or something?“  
Adam squirms a little and seems to find something terribly interesting under his fingernails.  
The conversation around him stops and everyone looks at him, so he can‘t pretend too long.  
He blows some locks out of his face.

„How should I say this, seems like I kept a bit of my antichrist powers.“  
Crowley thrums her nails on her knee.  
„Is that so? I remember Warlock mentioning this quaint little detail in his letter, where you seemed to have kept track of our drinking habits. Also curtesy of your powers?”  
The boy has the decency to look ashamed.  
“Well, I just wanted to check in on you…”  
The demon’s deprecating expression has him cringing.  
“You really shouldn’t violate other people’s privacy like that.”  
“I’m sorry.” Adam mumbles. “I won’t do it again.”

“We would appreciate that, dear.” Aziraphale cuts in, his voice a lot gentler than Crowley’s.  
“You can always call us if you want to catch up.”  
They know they won’t be able to tell if the boy stays true to his promise, but the angel already has some kind of magical veil in mind.

“I gather this is not an involuntary thing?” Crowley inquires further. “It didn’t shield you from that smoke before.”  
Adam shakes his head. “No, I usually have to concentrate real hard for it to happen. It almost never acts on it’s own. Though seeing the danger coming helps a lot. It has already stopped that rotten egg Greasy Johnson tried to hit me with.”  
“But the bucket ol’Tyler flung at you last time you were in his apple trees still got you.” Brian remembers. Adam shrugs.  
“On some days it’s easier than on others. I haven’t fully worked it out yet.”

Crowley frowns. “Just tell us if it causes you any trouble, okay? Maybe we could help.”  
Pepper scowls. “If he tries to pull off his Antichrist-thing again, I’ll be calling you right away.”  
Adam looks a little uncomfortable in his skin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I actually spent a lot of time wondering who's "No food in bed"-policy it was going to be. :D  
> In the end I decided Aziraphale loves to keep up the appearance of good manners and thus it was his.


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello my dears,  
> I hope you're doing well!  
> Here's the next chapter, I hope you like it. :)  
> Cheers,  
> Lae

Even after the kids have gone to sleep, Aziraphale and Crowley are lying awake for a long time and talk. Aziraphale can feel that Crowley is still antsy and tries to distract her, but their conversations always circle back to the same topics in the end.  
How badly the whole evening could have played out, how Adam’s powers seem to have brought back a small part of the Apocalypse into their life, how Crowley isn’t used to having that many feelings about that many people.  
The angel is prone to anxiousness himself and they take turns in calming each other down and worrying their heads rotten.

Into a small silence, Aziraphale asks: “Do you think the incident could have been planned?”  
Crowley, who’s had her head buried in the softness of Aziraphale’s chest, moves away a tiny bit to get a look at him.  
“You mean these drunkards at the square tonight?”  
“Yes.”  
The demon grumbles. “Ach, I don’t think so. Heaven either sends some prim and proper larger-than-life asshole, who’s animated with the spirit of righteousness, or they get the job done themselves. As for my mouldy lot…”  
Aziraphale snorts at the whole thing. Crowley throws him a short-lived grin.  
“I don’t think it was their doing, either. Neither Hastur’s nor Beelz’s style. Firstly: too indirect, secondly: not ominous enough.  
Just some _drunk aggressive sad little…_ ”  
There’s a small curl of smoke escaping through her teeth and she shuts her mouth.

The angel runs his fingers through Crowley’s crimson hair. She has let it down before going to bed and now the curls are unfurling across the pillows in long, silky waves.  
“When will the train leave tomorrow?”  
Crowley knows he’s talking about the train that’ll take the children away from them at noon - four of them to Tadfield, and Warlock, after changing lines two times, back to boarding school.  
She’s got the schedule memorized.

“Actually, angel, what do you think about bringing them back ourselves? I’d drive…”  
_And postpone the inevitable moment of separation._  
Aziraphale agrees at once.  
“Yes, please let us do that. I’d like to see them home personally after today. It’d be most reassuring.”  
Crowley gives him a crooked little smile and takes his hand again.  
“It’ll probably take most of the day. You don’t mind?”  
Aziraphale strokes his thumb across the back of her hand.  
“Not at all, my darling. Like I said, it’d calm me to actually see them get home safely. We could drop by Anathema’s, if you want to. I think she’s still in Jasmine Cottage.”  
“Hmm, I dunno if I’m up to company after everything, but I won’t rule it out.”  
She sighs and plays with a strand of her hair. Then she rolls her eyes indignantly at a knot she’s found there.  
“I think I’m gonna change now, I’ve forgotten how messy these hairs get when I sleep on them.”

Before Aziraphale can say anything, Crowley is back to bony and short-haired again.  
The angel looks a bit disappointed.  
“Sweetheart, I realize it’s late but - but next time, if you want to... I - could - just… braid it?”  
His voice slows down insecurely while talking and at the end his mumbling is hardly distinguishable. He even blushes a bit. The demon blinks.  
“I- I didn’t realize you’d want to do that.”  
“Um… yes? If you don’t mind… I love those locks, they are remarkable.  
\- I-it’s not that I don’t like your hair short, I mean, I think you always look great, darling, that’s a given, you know I do, it’s just that sometimes Imissyouhavinglonghair?”  
Aziraphale is getting so worked up over it that Crowley begins to snicker.  
“It’s okay, angel, don’t tie your tongue into a knot.”  
The other being squints over the edge of a pillow he has half-hidden behind.  
“So you’d rather I let my hair grow out?” Crowley asks curiously. "Then it wouldn't matter, you'd always get to braid it." He winks.  
Aziraphale frowns and shakes his head so hard that the pillow rustles loudly.  
“Sweetheart, I’d never tell you how to wear your hair! That’s not right-“  
“Aziraphale, seriously, _calm down._ I’d been pondering a different hairstyle anyways, I know you’d never order me to change. So…”  
The demon runs his fingers through his hair. “How’d you like it, say, about this long?”  
He points it out with his hand, just above his shoulders.  
Aziraphale’s eyes light up. “Very! I – I mean. That length really suits you, darling.”  
Crowley throws him a satisfied grin.  
“Then that’s that.”  
He snuggles closer to his angel. “Let’s go to sleep.”

The angel has to apply two or three more sparks of ethereal power than usual to keep Crowley away from the nightmares this time, but it barely registers in Aziraphale’s conscience.  
Shielding his demon has become a quiet and steady background noise of Aziraphale’s nights and they both manage to get a few hours of sleep somehow in the end.  
They are woken very rudely by a muffled explosion outside and some very loud jeering and whistling next door – and from the street.  
Crowley is on his feet and out the door in an instance, while Aziraphale cannot help but adjust his hair and bowtie first. He’s never quite developed a sense for potentially dangerous situations, but he's sensible to the sound of voices - and the children are definitely not in distress.

The kids are leaning out of the kitchen window, craning their necks and laughing their heads off.  
Crowley has to stand on tiptoes to get a look at what has them so entertained.  
Glee sneaks into his expression.  
_Oh, I had totally forgotten about that, but damn, I got him good…_  
“Ahem.”  
_Uh-oh._  
The demon turns slowly to see a slightly miffed out Aziraphale standing behind him, tapping his foot.  
“Care to explain what got the whole neighbourhood in turmoil, darling? And why _you_ are looking _so smug_ about it?”  
Adam, not listening to the conversation behind him, sticks his head back into the flat.  
“Mr. Zira, remember Mr. Byrne from next door, who always complains about your opening hours, and your dusty displays, and told us we were playing too loud?”

Aziraphale narrows his eyes. “Yes?”

“Well, seems like somebody put a stink bomb at his door and it went off when he tried to get the newspaper.”  
Aziraphale’s eyebrows shoot up.  
“Nice hair Mr. C, by the by!”  
Adam leans back outside the window, while Pepper comments what is happening on the street.  
“Look, he’s doing a dance now! And his wife – ugh, she really doesn’t want to come near him. And she doesn’t wanna let him back in, hahaha! Can somebody get me a phone? I have to record this, this is _gold_ …”

The angel carefully wriggles in between the children to see the spectacle himself.  
He notices several other neighbours observing the scene from their windows; Miss Williamson from across the street waves at him and smiles cheerfully.  
Nobody around here cares much for Mr. Byrne’s opinions.  
Aziraphale waves back at her hesitantly and retreats from the window.  
Crowley’s triumphant grin becomes a little awkward around the edges.  
“Aziraphale, look, it was just too good to _not_ do it, what kind of demon would I be if I didn’t…”  
The angel wrinkles his nose.  
“Children, please close the window now, I think I can smell Mr. Byrne up to here.”  
Then he smirks and a glint of mischief appears in his eyes.  
“Suits him just right.” He murmurs, so low that only Crowley is able to understand.  
The demon hasn’t been so proud of him since they’d stood up against their superiors together.

Fortunately, the children don’t seem to suffer from the events of the previous evening.  
They are as lively and up to no good as ever and chatter on amongst themselves while packing their things and getting ready for departure.

Well, not all of them.  
Warlock seems a bit out of it today and is the last one to finish packing up.  
He keeps glancing around the flat and his gaze more than once find it’s occupants.  
Every time Aziraphale or Crowley catch him stare, he avoids his eyes and the corners of his mouth sink a little more.  
After the fifth time, Crowley shoots Aziraphale a worrying yet helpless look and the angel decides it’s time to do something.  
“Warlock?” He calls softly, approaching the boy who has secluded himself in one of the armchairs, pretending to adjust the straps of his backpack. “Is anything the matter, dear?”

Warlock continues to fumble with one of the clasps and doesn’t answer.  
Aziraphale crouches down in front of him.  
“Don’t you want to tell me what’s wrong? Is it something about yesterday, or…?”  
The boy shakes his head.  
“Then is it about boarding school? Don’t you want to go back?”  
Warlock looks up and nods slowly.  
“Why?” This comes from Crowley, who has come over to listen in on the conversation.  
“Is someone bothering you over there?”  
“Naah… it’s not like that. There even are some kids there I know from my previous school. They are nice enough, it’s just…”  
“Yes?”  
Warlock sighs dramatically. “Uncle Crowley, they are _SO boring!_ ”  
Aziraphale looks a bit put out at that, while the demon snorts loudly.  
“That’s why you look so glum? Talk about spoiled brats these days…”  
He reaches out to the boy’s head and lightly knocks on it.  
“Hello? Have you entirely forgotten your upbringing? What have I always told you?”  
Warlock dodges the last knock and glares at him irritated, but answers his question: “The spoiled kids are rarely the interesting ones.”  
“Eeexactly. So don’t be one yourself! And go find the _interesting_ fellas, for somebody’s sake!”  
The boy still scowls. “And how am I supposed to find someone as interesting as you?”  
The way he glances around the room makes clear that he includes the other children.

Adam flops over the backrest of the other armchair head-first with a little "Hup!" and then wriggles down into the cushion until his hair dangles off the seat and his feet are high in the air.  
“Seems like you just have to search better!”  
Brian nods approvingly and starts to talk while stuffing his mouth with a croissant.  
“You probably want to ftay away from the kidf you already know and liften more to the onef you don’t know!”  
Little croissant-flakes are floating to the floor.  
Aziraphale wonders where he’s found the pastry now, he’d been certain they were out.

“And in the holidays you come back to Tadfield and celebrate New Year’s with us!” Pepper adds. The boys are throwing her admiring looks.  
“Oh yes!” Adam yells, pumping his fist in the air. “It’s going to be-“  
“Wicked!” The little chorus chimes in.

Warlock glances at his godfathers.  
“And I can visit you before? For Christmas?”  
Aziraphale and Crowley look at each other.  
“Of course, my dear, we’d love to have you over again. But not on Christmas day, okay?” The angel tells him. “You should be with your parents then.”  
He has stood up and put his arm around the demon’s waist. Crowley returns the action with one hand and tucks one of his red locks behind his ear with the other.

Warlock shrugs and a smile spreads across his face.  
“No, of course, I’ll be at home then. But the holidays are long.”  
The demon grins at the boy. “Feel free to drop by whenever you want to.”  
“That goes to all of you.” He adds and the Them are grinning right back at him.  
“Now go get your things, little monsters, we should really head out!”

Have you ever noticed how long it sometimes feels to get somewhere and how fast the same way seems to fly when going back? That’s what happens to the children in the Bentley, while angel and demon experience it the other way around.  
Especially Crowley, who’d love to go all out in his racing, feels like this is torture.  
He doesn’t want to drop them off, but he also doesn’t want so sit in the car the whole day awaiting the inevitable fall of the metaphorical guillotine.  
_Fuck it all._  
At least the kids seem to have fun behind him and Aziraphale joins in on their word plays one time or the other. Somewhere on the way to Tadfield, the angel insists on having a break to stretch and eat something and then gushes about the content of the cool-box, which he hadn’t seen before. Crowley has packed it full of downright artistically assembled sandwiches, cherry tomatoes, veggie sticks, cubed cheese, biscuits, pre-cut fruits and chocolate bars. Everything’s handmade, of course, except the latter.  
Even the iced tea, filled into Aziraphale’s new collection of colourful- patterned thermos flasks.

(Both of them agreed that the tartan one had to be banned from the kitchen, even though Aziraphale could have made sure to decontaminate it thoroughly. Instead, they’d decided to fill it again, for precautions, since it had already saved the demon once. It sits in Crowley’s safe, where it’ll hopefully remain till eternity.)

They enjoy the last sunny afternoon of the year on a motorway station.  
All kinds of vehicles are rushing past on the nearby asphalt; pop music blares from a truck across the parking lot and a baby cries in one of the other cars.  
There‘s a faint smell of rubber and gasoline in the air and a sudden gush of wind whirls brown leaves and some kind of paper wrapping over a small strip of sickly greenery.  
Not that it matters.  
Aziraphale marvels at the way the light catches in Crowley’s new haircut and resists the urge to ruffle through it. He very nearly avoided squealing over it this morning, and just because he had been distracted by the stink-bomb-incident.

 _You beautiful, beautiful creature. I’ll never get tired of this sight._  
He sighs and takes a bite of Crowley’s pear and cinnamon biscuits. It feels like he has never tasted a pastry as delicious as this.  
Maybe it’s the love that got poured into it - not that he hasn’t tasted food with the real passion of a chef behind it – but it could spring from the fact that the love poured into these ones is partly the love for the people who are eating them now. It’s just this kind of special connection.  
Aziraphale hums happily over his meal and leans his shoulder against Crowley’s.

 _I wonder how he’ll handle it._  
He has never seen the demon get so attached to someone other than Warlock and, well, Aziraphale.  
Crowley has had his favourite humans throughout history, but never stayed long enough to watch them age and fade away. He’d always berate Aziraphale when the angel had been mourning a precious friend, about how pointless such connections were in his opinion.  
Of course he’d also bring some food and wine and try to take over both of their duties for a while – Aziraphale had been late to catch up on that and then ignored it since Crowley had refused to talk about it.  
But the point is, just like the angel, Crowley’s personality is getting more and more versatile, one could even say more human. And in that, he’s becoming more and more vulnerable.  
On one hand Aziraphale perceives it as a good thing, since it allows Crowley to enjoy the things he likes more, on the other hand he is worried about him getting hurt.  
_The bandstand alone… oh, I really shouldn’t go down this road of thoughts._

The demon tilts his head and looks at him. “A golden coin for you thoughts, angel.”  
“Actually, that’s not how that idiom goes.”  
Crowley cocks an eyebrow at this cheekiness and Aziraphale smiles at Wensley.  
“Oh, just reminiscing a bit, sweetheart.”  
“You really like to do that, don’t you?”  
Before the angel can answer, Warlock interrupts him.  
“That reminds me - Can I call you when I have to do a history presentation? I bet it’d become much more interesting if you helped me!”  
He grins at his godfathers. The other Them are thrilled about the idea.  
“That’s _the_ solution to all of our history home works and exams!” Adam says excitedly.  
“And when we have to do something with literature!” Pepper joins in.  
“And classical music!” Wensleydale adds. “Actually, can’t you just magically do our exams?”

Aziraphale wavers between shock and amusement.  
“My dear, I thought _you_ would be the last to ask about cheating at school!”  
The boy gets a little red in the face.  
“Actually, I only care about sciency stuff. The other subjects can go jump in a lake.”  
“ _Wensleydale!_ ”  
The other children snicker. The angel goes for a stern look.  
“Dear boy, we’ll always readily help you if you have any questions, but I’ll certainly not be part of any cheating!”  
He doesn’t see the conspiratorial wink Crowley gives the children and the finger he raises to his lips when they want to start laughing.  
“Look, angel, ain’t that a great idea? We could be their private tutors. Think of all the knowledge we could pass on.“  
„There‘s really nothing I can say against that.“ Aziraphale proclaims, and Crowley thinks he‘s just found the perfect way to stay in touch with everyone.

They say goodbye to Adam, Pepper, Brian and Wensleydale right in the middle of Tadfield; their parents have gathered to pick them up.  
Visiting Anathema turns out to be impossible, since Deidre Young informs them that the witch has gone to visit her mother for the celebration of Samhain and won’t be back another week.

Warlock turns around on the backseat as they are driving away and only stops waving when everyone has disappeared behind them.  
Aziraphale notices how crestfallen he looks. He tries to make some light conversation, but neither Crowley nor Warlock seem to be in the mood to talk.  
After half an hour, he can’t stand the mopey silence anymore, so he resolves to switching on the radio.  
“~Inside my heart is breaking / My make-up may be flaking / but my smile stays on. ~”  
The demon glares at the player with all his hell-given viciousness and furiously pushes the eject button. The device is so eager (and terrified) to get rid of the Queen album that the thing gets catapulted out and smacks against the backseat, right next to Warlock.  
The boy jumps in his seat and stares incredulously at his godfathers.  
A smile is tugging at the corners of his mouth. Crowley guiltily grins back at him through the rear-vision mirror.  
“Heh!”  
That was Aziraphale, who immediately covers his mouth with his hands.  
Warlock lets out a stifled snort.  
And then they all start giggling, and a few seconds later they are laughing out loud, teary eyed and red-faced and without a care. The Bentley takes over the driving until Crowley has calmed down and it’s then that the demon asks his godson: “Say, do you like racing?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can you tell Wensleydale has become my favourite Them? <3 :D  
> I'd love to bring back this little sassy glasses wearer, but I don't think the remaining plot allows it. We'll see.  
> Also, how did I miss out on writing more fem/genderfluid Crowley (I'm smitten!)? I'll probably catch up to that in another fic.  
> Have a good week everyone!


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hellooo everyone out there,  
> How are you holding up?  
> Last week has been bonkers in the worst way and somehow it took away any confidence I had, in writing and otherwise.  
> I never thought I'd say it, but I'm glad it's Monday :D  
> If you want to be updated on what is going on with the fic and maybe get spammed with more GO content and other wonderful nonsense, come follow me on phalaenopsis13.tumblr.com :)  
> I still got that _bloody twittah_ , but I'm not very active there.^^  
> I know this chapter and the last haven't done much plot-wise, but I promise the next one will be a bit more exiting ;)
> 
> Also I wanted to say that I made a change to chapter 13, changing Crowley's Halloween costume, because I didn't think it was appropriate to use La Catrina as a costume. I explained it in the edit at the beginning notes of 13.
> 
> I hope you’re all safe and healthy!  
> Cheers,  
> Lae

Sooner than anyone would expect (at least one hour earlier than the approximated time for a car driving at non-hellish speed), the Bentley halts at the gate of St. Naberius boarding school with screeching tires.  
St. Naberius is situated in the middle of green hills between a wood and a small town. Crowley had already spotted it while racing down that last knoll.  
He peeks out from behind the windscreen.  
The complex of buildings looks ancient and venerable and apparently solely consists of steeples and turrets, oriels and high glass panes. An old and impenetrable hedge surrounds the grounds and two hoary statues flank the gate. One is a raven, cocking and turning its head so it observes the arrivals with one eye. The other is a dog, something like a boarhound sitting straight like a rod and slightly baring its teeth. The vibes these two are spreading are portentous enough for Crowley to be delighted about the school.  
It would’ve been _the_ place if Crowley had or would ever get the unlikely urge to be a professor. Aziraphale would probably like it, too, the angel loves everything ancient and venerable. He’d also love the usually clear and crisp air around here.

But right now, the breeze carries the stench of burned rubber and overheated electronical devices.  
The passenger door opens.  
Aziraphale climbs out on shaky knees, stumbles over to a boulder by the road and collapses on it with a whimper. He doesn’t spare the beautiful buildings a single glance.  
Behind him, Warlock gets out of the car.  
“That – was – WICKED!!!” He yells, throwing his arms in the air and doing pivots on the gravel.  
Crowley folds his limbs out of the driver’s seat.  
“You never told me you went to school at freaking Hogwarts!” He tells Warlock, but the boy doesn’t listen to him.  
“It was all _whooohoooo_ , and then _swwwish!_ and then we jumped over that closed railway gait! - and then, and then…” Warlock is getting visibly dizzy from turning so much and has to lean against the Bentley. He buries his hands in the dark strands of his hair. Then he looks up at the demon.  
“Uncle Crowley, that was a- _mazing!_ ”

Aziraphale wishes the hero worship for Crowley shining in his godson’s eyes would have been caused by literally _any_ thing else.  
The angel has been in ongoing internal negotiations with his bowels to not dispose of their contents through his mouth. It’s worked so far, but it has been a near miss in some of the sharper turns.

Crowley beams at Warlock. Finally he’s found someone who truly appreciates his driving skills.  
“Can we go again?!” The boy asks and Crowley suddenly has a lump in his throat.  
“Err... I’m sorry, kid, but you’ll have to go back now. They are waiting for you.”  
Warlock makes a face.  
“Poo. I don’t wanna.”  
The demon clears his throat, but his voice still sounds hoarse. “Look, it won’t be long, okay? It’s less than two months until Christmas. We can talk on the phone. It’ll fly by like nothing.”  
He briefly wonders who he’s trying to persuade here.  
Warlock makes a hole in the gravel with the tip of his shoe. Crowley rubs his neck.  
“So… okay, err, let’s get your things from the trunk.”

(A literal trunk. It’s a big one, attached to the luggage rack, which fits all of the children’s things and the cool-box. )

Crowley lifts the lid and pulls out the boy’s backpack, airbed and sleeping bag.  
He throws a look of concern to his angel, who currently wipes his face with a tartan handkerchief between his trembling fingers and after Warlock has followed his gaze, the boy gets a thermos flask from the cool-box and carries it over to Aziraphale. He unscrews the cap and pours some tea.

Aziraphale still feels very out of it when he feels a tap on his shoulder.  
“Uncle Zira? Are you… there?”  
The angel startles. His face must look very pale.  
“Oh, I’m so sorry dear boy, I’m a little indisposed right now, but I'll be up and about in no time, you'll see.” Then he eyes the liquid while contemplating whether or not his stomach will keep it inside. In the end he reaches for the cup.  
“Thank you for the drink, my dear. That was very thoughtful of you.”  
He carefully takes a sip and sighs. “Aah, much better.”

Crowley saunters over to them, Warlock’s things thrown over his shoulder. The gravel is crunching under his feet.  
He caresses Aziraphale’s back with his free hand.  
“Sorry, angel.” He mumbles.  
The demon actually hadn’t paid much attention to Aziraphale on the ride, since Warlock had had so much fun with it. He _might_ have ignored the angel more or less on purpose. And he also _might_ have gotten carried away a bit.  
He is definitely feeling quite guilty now. “Can I bring you anything else? Some chocolate?”  
“Ugh, please, no food!”

Aziraphale looks up at his lover and somehow he feels so miserable that he fails to be angry.  
He chuckles. “Please promise me we’ll have the slowest ride back to London, darling.”  
Crowley places his hand on his heart.  
“I promise! Slow as a snail, soft as a feather… you won’t even notice the corners.”  
The angel sighs again. “I hope you mean it, dearest. I’m afraid my corporation won’t be able to handle another ride like that.”  
Crowley flinches. “Angel, I really am sorry. I swear I’ll behave.”  
“Yeah, Uncle Zira, next time we’ll leave you at home.”  
The demon’s eyes flick over to him in surprise. Then Crowley remembers he’ll be able to see his godson a lot more from now on and his heart swells two sizes.  
He grins like a Cheshire cat.

“Oh wonderful, you’re already giving each other ideas.” Aziraphale groans, but they can tell there’s no true disapproval behind it.  
Warlock hugs the angel tightly. “I’m sorry too, Uncle Zira.”  
The angel reciprocates the embrace, the cup still in his hand.  
“Don’t worry, dear, I’m tougher than I look.”  
“Duh, I know that!” Warlock tells him and grins. Then he looks towards the school and the angel can feel his heart sink. “I think I have to go in now.”

Crowley has already begun to stride to the gate and waves with the backpack.  
Aziraphale stands up and eyes his godson wistfully.  
“Take care of yourself, will you, my dear? And please call. You can talk to us about anything, you know?”  
Warlock nods eagerly and hugs him again.  
“I’ll miss you, Uncle Zira!” He mumbles from the wrinkles of Aziraphale’s vest.  
The angel ruffles Warlock’s hair and presses a small kiss on the crown of his head.  
“I’ll miss you, too, dear boy. I’ll be happy to see you again on Christmas. - Now go, Crowley wants to say goodbye to you, too.”  
Smiling gently, he gives the boy a little nudge towards the gate.  
Warlock throws him a lopsided smile and makes his way over to his second godfather.

Aziraphale cleans out his cup, places the thermos back in the trunk, and gets into the car, wanting to give the other two some privacy. He watches them from behind the windscreen.  
The boy and the demon exchange a few sentences, before Crowley bows down a little stiffly and draws Warlock into a hug. After several long seconds, he shakily pats his godson on the back and wants to let go of him, but something seems… wrong.  
Aziraphale sees how Warlock furiously wipes his eyes with his sleeve and almost gets out of the Bentley again, but then Crowley pulls the boy back into his arms and holds him there.  
Aziraphale can see the demon’s lips moving, but has no chance to find out what is being said. Whatever it is, it makes Warlock laugh and soon he extracts himself from Crowley’s embrace.  
_My sweetheart, I am so glad about how well you're doing. I bet you don't even notice._

Outside, the other two grin at each other. Crowley helps Warlock with putting on his heavy backpack and hands him sleeping bag and airbed.  
After one last pat on his godson's shoulder, the demon turns and saunters towards the Bentley.  
Warlock , climbing up the stairs to the huge wooden doors, looks back and calls out; Crowley turns and waves at him and the boy waves back, then looks over at Aziraphale and waves at him, too.  
The angel raises his hand, and in the next moment, Warlock has disappeared inside.

Crowley opens the driver’s door.  
He plops into the seat, clutches the steering wheel with both hands and his head falls forward until it hits the polished wood.  
Aziraphale gets a glimpse of watery yellow eyes behind the sunglasses.  
The angel carefully places his hand on top of Crowley’s.

“We’ll have him back in no time, darling.”  
“Hmph.”  
“I’m sure he’ll call. Or you could arrange… I don’t know the word anymore, I think it had something to do with the air? Or the sky? - Anyway, one of those video calls. Then we’d be able to see each other. Wouldn’t that be nifty?”  
“Ngk.”  
There’s not a single tear rolling down the demon’s cheek, but maybe that’s because he makes them go back into his body by force.  
Aziraphale leans over and places his chin on Crowley’s shoulder, caressing his hand.

“Please don’t be sad, sweetheart, I’m sure it’ll fly by like nothing.”  
That’s the same Crowley has told Warlock just moments before, but he obviously doesn’t believe his own words. Nevertheless he straightens, making the angel retreat from his shoulder, adjusts the sunglasses in his face and sniffles.  
“Sad? What’s there to be sad about? I’m not his mummy, this isn’t his first school trip. Sad? I’m not sad.” Crowley spits, a tad bit nasally, and shifts into gear.  
“Of course not, darling.” Aziraphale remarks and drops the subject.

The landscape is rolling by the windows. It’s late in the afternoon and the fall sun is already retreating. Crowley has cooled down and drives as gently as he’s able to; he’s even begun to hum to the sound of the local radio station. Aziraphale has snuggled down into the passenger seat and watches the world go by.  
Suddenly he giggles.  
Crowley squints over at him. “What is it?”  
“Did you notice the school’s namesake?”  
The demon grins. “Yeah.”  
“Was that one of your schemes? Somehow that would fit.”  
Crowley shakes his head and laughs. “No angel, I would have told you if I was responsible for the demonic namesake of our godson’s boarding school. But it was probably someone from downstairs, I know a few presidents of hell with exactly this kind of humour. Or maybe it was Naberius himself, the old fart.”  
“Maybe it’s been some kind of satanic establishment in former times.” The angel ponders and frowns. “Like St. Beryl’s. I just hope there’s none of that left today.”  
Crowley shrugs. “I’ll check them when we’re back in London. Though I think the little monster would have told us if there was something suspicious going on.”  
Aziraphale eyes him doubtfully. “And I have the nagging feeling that _if_ there’s something to stumble into, Warlock will be the first to find it. – Wait, where are we going?”

Crowley has turned from the street onto a dirt track between fields and is heading up the hill towards a huge oak tree.  
“Surprise picnic, angel! Thought we’d enjoy the country side a little more before heading back home.”  
Aziraphale looks delighted and claps his hands. “Wonderful idea, sweetheart!”

Crowley makes Aziraphale wait in the car while he spreads out a picnic blanket and, thinking of it last moment, miracles blankets for them take cover under, so they won’t freeze while sitting and eating.  
The demon makes sure to choose a spot of smooth grass (a few tufts of it are quite surprised to find they aren’t rocks or sticks anymore) under the oak to watch the sunset and places two small lanterns left and right with warmly flickering candles in them.  
When he gets the cool-box from the trunk, he opens Aziraphale’s door on the way back and motions him to follow. The angel’s cheeks are pink and his eyes are sparkling.  
“Crowley darling, that looks beautiful! To what do I owe this much effort?”  
The demon pecks a kiss on Aziraphale’s temple.  
“Nothing. Everything. I just – I felt like it.”

Aziraphale smiles impishly at him and doesn’t prod any further. He makes himself comfortable and pulls a blanket over his knees. His feet are tidily tucked under his bum, while Crowley perches next to him cross-legged, tightly wrapped in a thick blanket and a black scarf.

“Could you pass me the box, angel?”  
“Oh, just let me take care of it, I’m sure there are some leftovers Brian hasn’t nibbled on…”  
Crowley grins.  
“Angel, do you really think I’d serve you leftovers to such a beautiful picnic?”  
He stretches his arm out in an inviting gesture, repeatedly curving his fingers.  
“Please pass me the box.”  
Aziraphale raises his brows and complies. Curiosity is showing on his face, and this adorably feral little hint of gluttony he often displays when expecting a treat.  
Crowley makes a huge fuss with opening the fastener and then the lid. He winks at his angel.  
“I want you to close your eyes.”

The other being frowns.  
“Darling, what are you planning?”  
“Don’t be a spoilsport, Aziraphale." Crowley purrs. "Just do it.”  
Reluctantly, his angel does as he is told.  
Crowley places the box right in front of him and waves his hand so the delicious smell and steam of fresh and hot food come wafting out and tickle Aziraphale’s nose.  
The angel inhales deeply and the frown is melting right off his face.  
He has a fine nose, he has trained it for millennia to smell the best food from a distance of several hundred metres. It comes very handy at big, busy market places.

He inhales another dose.  
_That’s definitely deep fried, but what exactly....?_  
It smells too refined for anything out of a fast food restaurant (not that he thinks Crowley would serve him that), more like it’s homemade. There’s something mellow, like rice and - _is that meat? And a whiff of garlic and cheese… could it be?_

“Hmm, that smells - oh, it smells divine! Can I open my eyes now?”  
He wants to peek, but a gentle hand swiftly covers his eyes.  
“No, angel. Not yet. Here, let me feed you. Say aaahhh…”  
“Crowley, really now?”  
Aziraphale pouts a little and maybe he’s even a bit embarrassed. He also really wants to indulge in what he suspects is inside that box in front of him.  
“Angel, just let me pamper you a little, okay?” Crowley’s voice is low and tender and it sounds a lot like when he wants to tempt.

 _Temptation accomplished_ , Aziraphale thinks and his mouth twitches with a smile.  
“Alright darling, I’ll do as you please. Ahh…”

The angel can hear something crackle and the scent of meat, vegetables and cheese intensifies. Then there’s the small soft sound of Crowley blowing on the food to prevent a burn and finally Aziraphale can feel something being put into his mouth.  
He chews.  
It’s crispy and soft simultaneously, and it simply oozes with flavour. There’s beef and onions, peas and carrots, tomatoes, saffron, red wine, parmesan and mozzarella… it’s glorious.  
Aziraphale makes little noises of utmost pleasure and swallows, his mouth already watering in expectation of the whole meal.  
He can feel how Crowley’s hand is shaking a little as the other being groans:  
“Damn it, do you always have to look like you’re about to have a darn food orgasm while eating? It makes it really hard to stay serious, you know?”  
And he removes his hand from his lover’s eyes, looking flustered and mad at being outdone.

Aziraphale blinks at him sheepishly. “I’ll stop when you stop looking at me as if you want me for dessert.”  
Crowley blushes even more and averts his eyes. “I don’t think I’m able to.”  
But it’s really hard to compete for Aziraphale’s attention with an extraordinarily delicious treat, and without failure, the angel already peers into the box, rubbing his hands. 

“Yes, I was right! Oh sweetheart, you remembered how much I liked them?”  
He lifts the whole plate and places it on the blanket. The demon scoffs.  
“’Course I do, I had to watch you eat them a bazillion times when we were in Naples. I popped over this morning to get some fresh ones from Francesca’s granddaughter. She’s nearly as good as her nonna, don’t you think?”  
Aziraphale gingerly picks one of the golden-brown balls from the plate and takes another moment to appreciate the scent. “Yes, she is, I’d say so… _wait._ ”  
He looks up and watches Crowley, who just stuffs his mouth with the unfinished arancino he’s fed Aziraphale from before. “You popped over this morning? To Naples?”

The demon tries to grin with his mouth full and fails hilariously. Small crumbs are tumbling from his lips into his lap.  
Aziraphale looks like he’s a bit piqued at that and this makes Crowley grin even wider. A pea falls to the ground. Hastily he grabs a napkin to hide his mouth behind it and gulps down. He wipes his chin and crumples the napkin in his fist.

“Yeah, well, they’ve got the best in the world, as you always remind me. And I’d do anything for yo-“  
The last bit of the vocal gets swallowed by Aziraphale, who has grabbed the blanket around Crowley’s shoulders to pull him forward into a kiss.  
Crowley melts into it. He can feel the angel smile against his lips.  
“Thank you ever so much my darling.” Aziraphale whispers and it sends a small shiver down his spine.

Aziraphale leans back and devotes his attention to the arancini again.  
Crowley stares at him mesmerized as the angel's rosy tongue darts out, licks over the upper lip, then retreats so Aziraphale can gently bite through the crust of the next arancino, humming with appreciation and reverently closing his eyes...  
The demon may have been drooling there for a moment.

While Crowley could happily go on like this and watch his angel devour the whole plate, he still has another surprise in stock; luckily he remembers it in time.  
He reaches into his box of ever-changing contents again and procures a bottle and two wine glasses.  
The bottle is filled with a golden shimmering liquid that somehow takes the colours of the sunset and reflects them back in millions of little lights, like a miniature liquid firework, or a very colourful bottle-shaped disco ball.  
Little dots of light are bouncing on both of their faces and manage to make Aziraphale look up from his prey round-eyed.  
“Crowley, what on earth is that?”  
“That, my angel, is the rarest whine you’ll ever taste. I got it from a business contact which has been on that cruise ship that washed ashore on Atlantis.”  
He uncorks the wine and pours a small amount into each glass. The drink loses some of its luminance, but still looks like something otherworldly.  
“It’s wine from Atlantis. She said she had two glasses of it and danced through a 20 hour-high afterwards. But this much shouldn’t hurt.”

Aziraphale gingerly takes his glass and lets the drink swirl with delicate little movements.  
Then he sniffs it. Crowley does, too.  
“My word, this smells like – “  
“Sunshine.” Crowley ends the sentence and throws the wine a disbelieving look. “She wasn’t kidding.”  
The wine tastes like nothing either of them has ever tried in the very long time of their existence. And its effects kick in almost immediately.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspirations for this chapter:
> 
> As you’ve gathered from the text, Naberius is not a saint, but a Marquess of hell, said to teach every kind of arts and sciences, sometimes taking form as a three-headed dog or a raven.
> 
> Though I’ve had the image of Warlock’s school in my mind for a long time, I suddenly thought it came off as a bit Hogwarts-ish when I wrote it out (even though it’s not a castle). From there sprung Crowley’s thoughts about being professors, and of course that should remind everyone of pinkpiggy93’s “Good Omens and the Forbidden Book” (GO meets HP). If you don’t already know it, check it out on insta or tumblr, it’s gorgeous!
> 
> The Atlantean (atlantic? Err…) wine was borrowed from Neil Gaiman’s “Neverwhere”.
> 
> If anyone is interested in the arancino-recipe, just dm me on tumblr or twitter.  
> Also: Next chapter will be 18+ again. ;D
> 
> Have a good week everyone!


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello dear readers,  
> I don‘t have much to say about this chapter, other than that it consist mainly of purely self-indulgent smut.  
> I hope you enjoy it, I at least had a lot of fun writing it. :D Feel free to tell me how you liked it!  
> Hope you‘re all safe and healthy out there!  
> Cheers,  
> Lae

What luck that Crowley had listened to his acquaintance and poured them so little, because the next two hours become kind of a happy bubbly blur.

Crowley believes he has climbed the tree sometime in, but can’t for his bony arse remember if he has done it on hands and feet or as a snake. There are fuzzy pictures in his head, pictures of Aziraphale from above, waving up at him and cheering him on to go even higher.  
There had absolutely been kissing, but it hadn’t developed into anything else because both of them kept having laughing fits about the sounds their mouths were making.  
Aziraphale had done a little demonstration of the gavotte while humming the tune along - and Crowley distantly remembers, not without shuddering, that he had _tried to join in._ They had shared the whole plate of arancini and somehow still managed to end up a little hungry and thus ravaged the leftovers from lunch, nibbled on or not.  
And on some point Crowley had sat down in front of Aziraphale and turned his back, his knees pulled up to his chin, and the angel had plaited the tiniest of French braids into Crowley’s half-long hair and decorated it with astonishingly late blooming vetches.  
The demon still knows how happy and peaceful it had felt to let Aziraphale work on his hair, the way the fingertips had grazed his ears and neck in the process and how the angel had mumbled little compliments about the _beautiful colour_ and _smooth texture_.

The sun disappears behind the hills and a first handful of stars begin to twinkle, while they get down from their yet rarest drink and cuddle under one blanket.  
Crowley tries hard to grasp the hazy memories of the last hours in his mind and preserve them there, so he can ponder about and pull more quaint details out of them with time.  
But with the night comes the cold and when Crowley’s nose is frozen red and he can’t hide his shivering anymore, Aziraphale insists to leave.

Once separated from the warmth of his angel and their shared blanket, Crowley doesn’t bother to do the cleaning up by hand; he just wants to get inside the car and be on the way now, the sooner the better.  
Chattering his teeth he snaps, and the remnants of their picnic disappear, accompanied by a loud _Clunk!_ from inside of the trunk at the Bentley’s rear.  
Aziraphale scrunches his face upon the sound of shattering glass that follows and squints at his demon.

“I hope that wasn’t the rest of the wine? I found the experience quite… enjoyable.”  
Crowley grins at that.  
“Don’t think so. Probably. Even if, I’ll miracle it back together later. Come on angel, let’s go back?”  
He opens the door for Aziraphale and the other gets into the car, not without caressing Crowley’s cheek while shuffling past him. Crowley smiles, closes the door and stretches his back and arms.

_Hmm, maybe I am still a little bit tipsy. Welp._ Some satisfying cracking takes place while he yawns and then saunters over to the driver’s door. _The old lady will handle it._  
He slides into his seat and looks at Aziraphale.  
Suddenly he wants some kind of closure, some kind of endpoint to this week, that has done so many things to his heart and probably to the angel’s, too.

“Lift home?” Crowley asks, smirking.  
A small gasp escapes Aziraphale’s mouth and his face falls, but then he realizes the good-natured tone of voice and nods with shimmering eyes.  
“Yes please. Take us home, darling.”  
And Crowley doesn’t feel cold anymore, not one bit.

When they’re halfway back to London and the after-effects of the wine have disappeared for good, Aziraphale starts to sense a lot of unease radiating off Crowley. The angel has been getting better and better at reading the other’s feeling the closer they get and now the reason for Crowley’s discomfort has him puzzled.  
It can’t be the cold, because the Bentley always has got perfect internal temperature.

 _It could be lack of sleep though… Or he reacts differently to the wine than me? Maybe he’s just not used to eating so much…_  
Aziraphale really prides himself in guessing and providing other’s needs, but as predictable Crowley is in certain times, the angel has learned not to assume too much. Sometimes Crowley gets upset about the most surprising things.  
Aziraphale decides to stop mulling over it and just ask. 

“Darling, you don’t seem to be well. Want to tell me what’s wrong?”  
Crowley looks at him from the corner of his eyes and blushes a bit, because he feels transparent.

“How did you – ah, well, it’s just my wings. I didn’t have the mind and time to groom them properly yet. Get rid of all the parts the firecrackers have damaged. It’s nagging me more n’more, like a headache or an itch.”  
Aziraphale instantly feels sorry for him, of course.  
“Oh no, you poor thing, I didn’t think of that! Well I did, but then we took care of the kids and somehow it got lost… Why didn’t you _say_ anything? No wonder you’re sore… Anyway, I will help you when we’re back. It will take hours if you do that alone.”

Crowley stares onto the street. Somehow the prospect of Aziraphale touching his wings has him squirming, even though he can’t place his finger on why that is.  
“You’re probably right.” He admits at last, and shrugs.

Grooming wings is something neither angels nor demons take care of with magic. Wings have to be properly trimmed, brushed, smoothed and generally maintained by hand; otherwise they lose their shine and strength.

Aziraphale stares at Crowley’s back, hesitating to begin.  
The demon sits on the bed topless, his wings stretched out widely, and Aziraphale is perched behind him with Crowley’s personal kit of scissors, brushes and oils to his side.  
The angel tries hard to ignore Crowley’s bare torso in front of him. It makes him even more nervous than he already is.

Yes, he had instantly offered his help, always wants to help Crowley without a second thought, but Aziraphale has never had outstanding grooming abilities and is unduly anxious to butch it up.  
He’s actually very touched that Crowley allows this, since the demon knows exactly the state in which Aziraphale’s wings are in most of the time.  
The demon had took his time to talk him through all of it before, telling him what to look for and how to treat different kind of damages.

The angel takes a deep breath.  
He just has to try his best and follow Crowley’s orders diligently.  
After inspecting the wings thoroughly, Aziraphale rolls up his sleeves and finally gains the courage to start.

Firstly he clips away the irretrievably burned parts, sometimes having to remove one or two feathers completely, but performs a pain killing blessing before he could cause Crowley to hurt.  
The other mumbles his thanks, but otherwise keeps very still, while Aziraphale continues to sort and disentangle, and brush ashes and debris away.  
Fortunately, the burns are superficial and haven’t reached the skin underneath. He nods approvingly, glad that Crowley hasn’t run around with blisters over his back all day.

He’s carefully picking his way through the downs of the right wing when he notices Crowley shiver.  
Then he notices a single pearl of sweat forming on the demon’s neck and running down his thoroughly flushed upper body.  
_What’s going on? Did I do something wrong?_  
In his irritation, Aziraphale’s fingers slip deeper into the downs than intended, and tap on the smooth skin beneath. Crowley’s back muscles tense up and his rips are moving vigorously under his heavy breath. The angel can see his lover’s ears burning up.

And suddenly, he understands.  
Aziraphale’s pulse rockets and his stomach does a somersault.  
He might have stumbled upon something marvellous.

Aziraphale shuffles back in the middle and is faced with the French braid he’s plaited before.  
His eyes narrow.  
If he’s going to make Crowley come undone, he may as well do it thoroughly.

The angel carefully plucks the flowers out of the braid and puts them aside; then he pulls the ribbon loose. He gently works his fingers from the tip of the braid towards Crowley’s scalp until the demon’s hair falls openly around his head again.  
Crowley’s muscles relax a bit and Aziraphale can hear a small content sigh from his lover.  
“Is this okay?” He asks, starting to massage his way down the demon’s head and neck in firm little circles.  
“Y-yes, feels nice.”  
“And how about here?”  
Aziraphale’s hands start to wander, still working on Crowley’s back while the demon hums in apprehension, and finally return to where the wings are attached to Crowley’s shoulders.  
This is when the demon suddenly falls quiet again; goose-bumps are spreading under Aziraphale’s fingertips.

The angel runs his fingers up into rich black softness and inquisitively slips them underneath the feathers, starting to caress the tender skin between the quills. Crowley tips his head back a little; his eyes are pressed shut, his lips a thin and taut red line. His face is one big, radiant blush.

Aziraphale hears his own heartbeat thrumming in his ears and his body is burning up under his clothes. Suddenly he feels an overwhelming rush of need and affection, eradicating any doubt still nagging in his mind.  
He pushes his fingers in more firmly.  
Crowley’s lips tear open and he _moans._

There are goose bumps all over Aziraphale’s arms now.  
His hands are moving on their own, massaging up and down, while the demon makes helpless little noises and starts trembling all over.  
_My gosh, this is positively sinful._  
Aziraphale decides he needs more contact, and he needs it fast.  
The angel’s waistcoat and shirt vanish into thin air and he leans his naked torso against Crowley’s back, his legs spread to the sides, one hand still moving through the feathers, the other arm slung possessively around the demon’s waist, holding onto him.  
Crowley is panting faster and faster; he turns his head to the side and tries to get a look at Aziraphale’s face; his eyes look feverish.

“Angel…” Is all he rasps. _I think I’m losing my mind._  
“Does it feel good?” Aziraphale whispers next to his ear.  
Crowley squirms and sighs, trying to keep it together somehow. The angel‘s boldness has caught him off-guard and sent another rush of blood towards his face and groin.  
He relishes in the feeling of Aziraphale’s warm skin against his back and the delicious sensation of his wings being touched like that.

“Does it-? It feels… _aaah_.” The angel has found an especially sensitive spot and keeps circling his fingers around there.  
To make it even better, Aziraphale is starting to kiss and lick the neck right under Crowley’s ear. The moist warmth of the angel’s breath is tickling the fine hairs on his skin and the nerves in his wings are lit like fire. Then Aziraphale tenderly bites down on Crowley’s earlobe.  
“ _Fuck!_ Angel, that’s… fuck. Shit. Don’t stop. Don’t you stop now.”

He notices a movement on his belly, and when Crowley looks down, he can see the other’s hand slipping towards the bulge in his pants. _Is it… is this really happening?_  
“May I?” Aziraphale mumbles under his breath.  
His angel, always so polite, always so thoughtful.  
_I’m all yours._  
The demon gulps and nods. He closes his eyes.

When Aziraphale’s fingers rub over the fabric and dive deep into his downs again, he almost comes. He moans embarrassingly loud and he can feel Aziraphale pressing his torso tighter to his back. Crowley is highly aware of his lover’s hot breath on his sweaty skin and of the hard length persistently nudging his tailbone from behind.  
When Aziraphale’s hand starts to slip under the demon’s waistband, Crowley stirs and sits up straight.

“Angel! Angel, wait. I… I want to see you. Please let me see you.”  
There’s a pause.  
He can hear rustling behind him, and the skin contact is lost.  
Crowley pulls his legs onto the mattress and turns around.  
The scene before him takes his breath away. 

Aziraphale is kneeling on the duvet, chest bare, his fair skin almost glowing. He has wrapped his arms around his belly and torso, trying to cover himself and dodges Crowley’s gaze self-consciously.  
Blonde locks are standing in all kinds of directions and his cock is visibly straining against his pants. His body is just as flushed as the demon’s.  
“Damn, angel. You’re bloody gorgeous.” 

Aziraphale’s eyes flick up to him and he smiles shyly.  
“You really think so?”  
“Oh yes, definitely. You are fucking beautiful.”  
Crowley of course isn’t able to see himself, but he bets his eyes consist mainly of pupils right now.

Aziraphale hesitates another second, then he slowly raises his arms and reaches out to Crowley.  
The demon’s movement has too much momentum and they topple over, but that only means he can sink into Aziraphale’s warm and welcoming curves and melt there.  
Most of the grooming utensils roll to the floor, but the two of them don’t even notice.  
Crowley’s hands are exploring all the wonderful round and soft shapes underneath him, fluttering over fine white hair and one of them finding their way to the angel’s cloth-covered erection, which rewards him with Aziraphale’s first moan tonight.  
It’s music in his ears.  
He continues with sucking a splendidly blooming love bite on the angel’s neck and Aziraphale thanks him by pulling his arm away and rubbing his erection against Crowley’s own.  
The demon groans loudly and attacks Aziraphale’s lips.  
Their hips are struggling to move together, since they’re far too frantic to really coordinate and Crowley’s breath stutters when Aziraphale buries his hands in his wings again.  
Because he is still gasping for air, he barely understands the next words the angel whispers:  
“Darling. I want you to take me. _Please._ ”

Crowley stares at him, trying to make sense of the words in his lust-addled brain.  
“You- you want me to-?”  
Aziraphale moans and bucks up his hips again and his fingers grip Crowley’s wings tightly.  
“ _Yes._ I want you, I want you so much.”  
Crowley’s eyes roll back and he snaps his hips forward, helplessly and keen at once. He‘s actually afraid of losing it if Aziraphale grips his wings any tighter.  
“Angel, I don’t think I will _last long…_ ”  
“I don’t care. I need you, _now._ ”

Oh, how much the demon has wanted to hear that.  
He can’t be bothered with miracles right now; he just frees Aziraphale from his trousers by hand, briefly noticing that the angel is wearing silky undergarments with little flowers on them underneath. Those go to the floor, too, and then he takes a second to marvel at the beauty of the naked being splayed out in front of him.

Aziraphale’s first reflex is to cover himself again, but Crowley shakes his head and growls.  
“Don’t you dare think you need to hide anything of that.”  
He tenderly pushes those arms aside and Aziraphale shudders; his blue eyes are glazed with arousal. When Crowley leans forward to kiss him agonizingly slow, Aziraphale moans into his mouth and rubs against his trousers without restraint and shouldn’t that be uncomfortable?  
So Crowley breaks the contact and starts to kiss his way down the angel’s body, soft little touches of worship on his neck, collarbone, nipples (Aziraphale gasps for air), the wonderfully plump contours above his rips and on his belly, down towards his hipbone…  
He’s just one kiss away from losing control, faced with Aziraphale’s pink and erect cock; he aches to take it into his mouth and his own erection twitches eagerly when the thought inevitably crosses his mind.  
No. If he sucks Aziraphale off now, he himself won’t last another second and he doubts that this is what his angel had in mind. 

Aziraphale still protests meekly when he stops.  
Crowley murmurs apologizing words, barely intelligible, as he moves back up to cup the angel’s face with his palm.  
“Angel… I can do that, if you want to, but I’ll be honest: if I take you with my mouth, I’ll be done for. Just tell me what you need, okay? Anything you need…”  
He knows he is babbling, that his voice is shaking and his eyes are unfocused and he’s short of breath. Aziraphale also seems to have a hard time to decipher his request and blinks confusedly.  
“I… you want me to…?”  
“Speak to me, yes. Just tell me what you want. I… I want to give…”  
Crowley is too high-strung and needy to properly articulate it all, but mercifully his lover catches up and nods. “I-I want you to take of your clothes. Let me see you, my love.”

Crowley clambers back and hurries to shrug out of his own pants, nearly falling off the bed in the process. Aziraphale’s eyes light up at the sight of his demon’s lean naked frame and he reaches out once more so Crowley returns to his arms.

It’s the first time their bodies touch completely naked and it sends both of their heads spinning and sets their hearts and corporations ablaze. Their breaths mingle while they’re trying to get their bodies to touch everywhere at once and Crowley reluctantly folds his wings away into another plane, finding they are very much in the way.  
Aziraphale looks a bit disappointed but doesn’t complain, instead pushing his lips against Crowley’s in fierce and hungry movements.  
“ _I want your fingers inside me, darling._ ” He goes on with his directions and the look the demon gives him makes him seems to take the angel‘s breath away.

Crowley has a hard time parting from their embrace, but he’s also eager to fulfil Aziraphale’s commands so he rises again and positions himself between the other’s legs.  
He uses a miracle to lube up his fingers; then he stops and looks at Aziraphale.  
The angel’s pupils are big and dark as he spreads his legs wide and motions Crowley to go on.

Crowley slips his index in, gently pushing past the ring of muscles and slowly working his way further – Aziraphale moans and his cock is bopping and Crowley’s other hand flies to touch himself, because this is just too fucking hot to endure. As soon as his fingers wrap around his erection, the angel’s eyes peel open and Aziraphale shakes his head, panting.  
“ _Please_ don’t come without me, darling, please, please… “  
And how can Crowley say no to that?

His hand stops and he mentally and physically forces it away, relocating it on the angel’s soft thigh instead and placing a kiss on Aziraphale’s knee.  
He carefully resumes working his finger inside the angel, slightly curling it against Aziraphale’s prostate and the other’s hips leave the mattress while Aziraphale pulls on the sheets around him and apparently can’t help but swear.  
“Aahh, C-crowley, fuck, yes, _yes!!_ ”

Crowley grits his teeth and closes his eyes, willing himself to last a little longer and not just come untouched then and there.  
Instead he focuses on pushing another finger in, spreading Aziraphale open and moving his hand until the angel is a quivering swearing mess in front of him.  
“Darling, sweetheart, fffuck - please, _please take me now!_ ”, he finally moans and Crowley stills his movements, already seeing stars from restraining himself.  
He gently lifts Aziraphale’s legs further up, leans forward and keeps his throbbing, lubed-up cock hovering in front of the angel’s entrance.

“Are you sssure, angel?”  
He growls more than he speaks, and he barely registers the hiss in his voice.  
It’s feel silly to ask the question now, but the urge to do so is there, nevertheless.

Aziraphale’s answer is grabbing him and pulling him inside and Crowley _again_ barely dodges coming then and there.  
“ _Fuck!!!_ ” – “ _Yes!!!_ ”  
They both moan loudly and Crowley thinks if this is how he is going to die, then he won’t dare complain. Aziraphale is so tight and hot around him, he’s afraid to move the first seconds, but then the angel starts to buck at him and he allows himself to get lost.  
They both don’t last long.  
While Crowley gasps and groans with every desperate thrust, Aziraphale starts calling his name and showering him with praise, finally just babbling incoherently when the demon manages to get hold of his cock between them and they both unravel against each other in a firework of orgasms that leaves them blinded and out of breath.

Crowley’s body loses all tension and he flops on top of his angel, not caring about the mess they’ve made. They are both spent and speechless and don’t speak or move for a very long time.

He startles when he senses Aziraphale performing a miracle and the stickiness on their skin vanishes.  
His heart skips a beat at the radiant smile that spreads on the angel‘s face.  
„I love you so much, you know that, sweetheart?“ Aziraphale asks and Crowley can’t do anything more than blush furiously and smile back at him like a loon, and he‘s sure that Aziraphale doesn‘t mind one bit.  
The angel tilts his head to place a kiss on the demon’s temple and Crowley closes his eyes and nuzzles the skin above the Aziraphale’s collar bone.

Suddenly he feels a hand making its way from his shoulder down his back and ending up on his naked butt. Crowley‘s eyes shoot open and he notices the mischief glittering in Aziraphale’s gaze.  
“Sooo… “  
The angel draws out the vocal in a way that can only be described as lascivious.  
“Now that we’ve taken off the first edge, darling – care to go again?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And then they happily stayed in their bedroom forever. ;D
> 
> No, but to be honest, the next chapter will probably the last one in this fic, and I‘m equally sad and happy to bring it to end.  
> I want to take my time to write this, so maybe it‘ll take more than one week until it‘s up, but I‘ll keep you notified on tumblr.  
> As always, thanks for your kudos and comments, they mean everything! <3 Have a good week everyone!


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